


REUSE RECYCLE RETURN

by MyDarkDigitalFantasy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Android Escorts, Consent Issues, Escort!RK800, Existential Angst, Hank Focused, Kamski Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sexual Slavery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, failed revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 03:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 89,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDarkDigitalFantasy/pseuds/MyDarkDigitalFantasy
Summary: The androids' attempt at a revolution has failed. Markus is dead. His killer, the RK800 unit known as Connor, returned to Cyberlife to be deactivated. The remaining deviants were splintered or killed in the raid on the abandoned freighter Jericho.For mankind, life is slowly returning to normal.Hank Anderson is not sure what he's still sticking around for.The RK900 model sent to replace Connor is seemingly a cold, unfeeling machine. Hank's been barred from continuing to investigate deviants. All that's left for him is the few unanswered questions he has about Connor's fate.But out of the blue, he receives contact from an unexpected source, one that will throw him into the middle of Cyberlife's dirty backlog and the lives of the remaining deviants left in Detroit.





	1. SYSTEM START

It's familiar, by now. The sight of the compressed, pixelized footage captured from the military drone feels like well worn tracks in his mind. The drone is circling around the derlict freighter before it finally focuses on a target. In the stark contrast from the spotlight, he can just make out the sight of the two figures standing inside the bridge of the abandoned ship. The lens zooms in, as it always does, and he can see Connor's face, his distinctive, awkward profile in the grain. He has seen the footage dozens of times by now. Connor drawing the gun from his hip and aiming it is no longer a surprise, the way it was the first time. The same timestamps remain in the upper left corner, the same watermarks. They frame the same series of events he wasn't there for.

As always Markus, the second figure, talks with Connor. There's no sound to the footage, but he can imagine, can try and fill in the silence. He imagines the deviant leader trying to reason with Connor, trying to talk him down, his hands raised up at level with his shoulders in appeasement but not quite surrender. He starts off calm, soothing, like Connor's a frightened animal. He is brave enough to step closer to Connor, maybe to give him a chance to grab the gun, or maybe to touch him and turn him deviant, like the witnesses of his march had described him doing. It's futile, and at the last moment, Markus realizes what is about to happen. Always too late, he turns his body, turns his head to look away or to run. Connor, face cold, expression unchanging, shoots him in the skull, right in the temple where his LED would have been. Markus collapses, crumpling over himself as the strength leaves his body all at once. The drone captures the thirium spray as a burst of black that hits the floor behind him. Connor lowers the gun.

This is where the footage ends, cropped by the FBI, because the video recordings of the military personnel storming the rest of the abandoned vessel to execute the remaining deviants wasn't something they wanted the DPD to see.

It should be ending. It's not.

Instead Connor is looking into the camera, and where there is supposed to be silence, he can hear a sharp ringing, like tinitus, like the echo of a gunshot right past his head. Connor is staring at him, and his expression is no longer a mask of controlled emptiness. His lips, his brow twist into a look of anguish, _fear_. The gun falls from his hand. "Hank." His voice trembles, and he hears it like it's being said inches from his face. Like Connor is _right there._ "Hank, Cyberlife is going to deactivate me." He's pleading. He sounds so scared. "They are going to take me apart. Please." 

There's nothing he can do. He's not there. He wasn't there.

"Hank, help me--"

 

Hank Anderson woke up at 9:31 AM, December 20, 2038, three hours before his alarm had been set to wake him up.

He groaned, hating the feeling of being dragged back into awareness, the tiny sliver of light coming in through the gaps in his curtains feeling like a knife in an eye socket. He hated the aftertaste of alcohol and vomit on his tongue, a half solid crust he forced himself to swallow around. It was the third morning in a row that he had woken himself up this early. It had been nearly two months since Connor would drag him out of bed to get him to the station before his usual time of noon. A few days of a fucked up sleep cycle shouldn't have left an impact so long after it had happened, even if Connor had made a consistent pattern from it. His hangover should have had him sleeping in. He'd been hoping it would.

He glanced at the alarm clock beside him. 9:33 AM. He groaned again, his hands rubbing over his face. Somehow, he managed to pull his body out of bed and out into the house.

He let Sumo out into the yard, his back creaking and popping loudly as he stooped to fill up the dog's food bowl and water bowl in turn. He ran his coffee machine as he poured himself a small shot of whiskey. He hurt like hell all over. It was all he could manage to make some toast and slather some peanut butter over it, too much of a piece of shit to get out a pan and fry an egg. At least it was protein. The air outside was freezing. When he opened the back door once again, a single gust of it feeling like a solid slap in the face as a snow covered Sumo bounded in past his legs. The dog snuffled around for a moment or two before vigorously chowing down on the food in his bowl.

"Yeah." Hank grumbled, warming his hands on his coffee cup. "Good morning to you too." The post it notes around his mirror were starting to look weathered. He hadn't changed them in almost two months. He didn't have anything new to say to himself. Nothing to add. He brushed his teeth, got dressed, and headed for the front door.

Outside, through the glass, everything was blanketed in inches of snow. His driveway, which he had shoveled the day before--despite every inch of his body begging him otherwise--was snowed in once again. He stood in front of the door for several minutes, breathing in and breathing out. He wondered if he should even bother heading in the office that day.

 

_"Cyberlife unveiled several new replacement models today for many of it's common public service androids. The company is working closely with many state governments to ensure a smooth transition from the previous generation of androids to the next. These new models will join the replacement personal assistant androids already in production, which Cyberlife is offering as free upgrades or at a substantial discount depending on the versions being traded in."_

_"In the wake of the Jericho incident, the population at large is still expressing significant distrust towards the company and androids as a whole, but Cyberlife has assured customers that the dangerous defect in certain androids' behavioral programming is being taken care of."_

_"In the meantime, the company advises if you see an android behaving erratically, such as--"_

He flicked the radio off, the sound of the anchor quickly drowned out by the melodic screams of the band he had been playing on repeat the past few days. He heard a beep from his phone, indicating that he'd received a notification of some kind, but he ignored it. It could wait until he got where he needed to be. Traffic was mostly back to normal in the inner city Detroit area, which was to say, it fucking sucked, slowing to a crawl down multiple streets, even with only automated vehicles lined up in front of him. One would think that robot cars would have prevented traffic jams by now, but maybe the stubborn human element involved kept things from being perfect. Hank realized, belatedly, he was probably part of that problem, driving along in his own ancient manual vehicle. Oh well. Finally, things picked up, and just as he accelerated into a higher speed, he noticed a cluster of people on the sidewalk a block down.

It took him a moment to parse what was happening, only for his heart rate to lurch in his chest out of reflex. He recognized a mob when he saw it, a group beating. There was a figure curled up into a ball on the ground, arms protectively braced around its head, knees drawn up towards its stomach. The figure curled tighter as four other people were gathered around it, kicking it deliberately in the ribcage and in the skull. He recognized the bright blue glow and insignias on the victim's clothing even as he signaled into a hard left swerve across oncoming traffic--automated vehicles sending out warning blares--and pulled up against the curb. 

That was an android they were beating.

He still came out of the car.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He shouted, raising his voice as he shut the car door behind him. Four pairs of eyes suddenly snapped to look his way, the kicking interrupted but not stopped. 

"Hey, fuck off, this ain't your fucking business." one of them snapped back at him, kicking hard between the android's shoulder blades. This close, he heard the android make a sound, something like a choked off grunt at the blow.

Hank whipped out and unfolded his badge for them. "DPD, what the _fuck_ are you doing? Does that android belong to you?" He went straight for the easiest threat he had, destruction of private property, the one that tended to get attention fast. He didn't know what he would do if the android _did_ belong to one of them, maybe he could try and hit them with a threat of disorderly conduct. But the looks on their faces told him that the android did not belong to them, and even if they were uncaring about beating a man( _/machine_ ) to death(/ _deactivation_ ) in the middle of the street, they were concerned enough about being fined for destroying another person's property. 

And if that didn't just make him taste bile just thinking about it. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Disperse." He waved the badge at them as they stepped back from the android, each individual glaring at him, "Get out of here." He kept his eye on them, watching as the group retreated down the street. 

The android remained where it was, still curled up tight like a pillbug on the sidewalk. Just as Hank was about to stoop down to offer his hand to help it up, it suddenly rose back into a stand. Hank recognized the face immediately, startled enough by it that his mouth fell open in shock. Hard to forget a face of someone who had damn near pushed him off a building. A WB200. Christ, those things looked young. No other adult android models were as baby faced as that one, except-- 

The WB200 stared back at him, swaying slightly on its feet before it seemed to right itself properly. There was no look of docile, empty contentment on its face like in other service androids he'd seen around the park. It looked shell shocked, eyes wide enough to show the whites around the entire iris. It looked just like Rupert Travis had, back in that bird filled apartment. 

It was a deviant. He was sure it was a deviant. 

"You uh," He spoke up, then. He felt like he had to say _something._ "You alright? Are you damaged?" He asked, the words feeling, immediately, pretty useless.

The android's eyes darted from him to his badge to down the street where his attackers had gone. It didn't say anything. 

Hank let out a long sigh, a cloud of white in front of his mouth and nose in the freezing air. "Listen, if you have an owner-- or a place to get back to, you need to get going." He continued. "You can't stay here. It's not safe." 

"...Thank you." 

Hank blinked, almost not believing what he had heard. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then the android was turning away, bolting off down the nearby alleyway. He saw it scale a chain link fence with ease, two steps up the side before vaulting over, and then it turned a corner and it was gone, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. 

Hank got back into his car.

 

 

Every time he returned to the department, there was that moment of vertigo, of feeling his world spinning the wrong way around. Every time, his eyes caught the shape of the android. Broad shoulders, the mop of brown hair, the dopey, boyish face. It always took him that extra second of human processing power to catch the android's clear grey eyes, and the insignia on his white jacket that read RK900. Not Connor. His replacement.

 

It had been almost 30 days ago to the date when the RK900 had shown up at the police department. "I am an RK900 unit. I am an android sent by Cyberlife to enact the continued capture and destruction of the remaining deviated units in Detroit." It had announced. The lack of a name, the coldness in its demeanor, everything about it had instantly put him off. It hadn't even acknowledged him, hadn't once even looked in his direction. Like Hank didn't even exist in its field of view. It had spoken with Captain Fowler alone for several minutes before Hank was then called into his office.  


"Don't get excited, Hank." Fowler had begun, and cut him off immediately before Hank could sputter out an angry reply to that, "You're still remaining in Vice." His punishment, for helping Connor get what he needed from the evidence locker. His diversionary tactics had gotten the DPD and Fowler in a world of trouble. 

"Okay." He had leaned back in his seat, the casual wave of his hand belying the anger on his face, "Why?" 

"Why? Because you god damned assaulted an FBI agent in the middle of the department in the middle of the most high profile case we've had in five years, that's why! You're lucky you even still have a job here, Hank!" 

"Bull-fucking-horseshit. We solved that case. And more than that, I'm the only one here that has experience working with these detective androids. You're not _rewarding_ me by using my experience here!" Even at the time, he wasn't sure why he was arguing so hard in favor of being allowed to partner with the new android. Maybe he had just wanted a chance to get close to it, a chance to get answers.

Fowler had folded his hands together in front of him on the desk. The long stretch of silence told him that there was something more to all of this.  


"Hank." 

"Jeffrey." He didn't like the sound of the man's voice there, didn't like where everything was going. 

"Cyberlife, as part of their conditions of our assignment with this new android, have specifically demanded that you not be involved in any android cases going forward. You, Hank Anderson, _specifically._ " 

Something cold and solid seemed to coalesce in the pit of his stomach. "What...?" 

"For that reason, the RK900 unit is going to be assigned to Reed." 

He had risen out of his seat, his hands planted on Fowler's desk. "That's bullshit! He _hates_ androids! He's not going to get them to cooperate, he's-" 

"I would think that's the point, Hank. You said it yourself. You and..." the man trailed off, his eye contact with Hank faltering for just a moment, "...You and Connor solved the case. This is just the clean up efforts."

 

Since then, the RK900 and Gavin sometimes brought androids into the station. Most of the time, however, they brought in remains. Deactivated androids with perfect shots through their skulls. A gallery of the RK900's unerring marksmanship. Later, those remains would be carted back out by Cyberlife agents. It was the ebb and flow of the precinct. Dead androids in, dead androids out. Day in, day out. 

That day, the RK900 was at its desk, the skin on its hand peeled back, interfacing with the DPD systems directly. Its eyes remained locked on the screen as information flowed past. As Hank walked around it, he could catch glimpses of words and images, processed faster than any human could hope to. 

Part of him was surprised that Gavin was so willing to work with the thing, considering how he felt about androids replacing humans on the force. Back in the day it had been the one point of contention the two of them had ever seemed to agree on. And there the RK900 was, the manifestation of the upcoming human obsolescence in all its cold, cunning, calculating glory. Maybe Gavin was fine with it as long as he was the one assigned to be the android handler and not Hank. 

He himself had never spoken directly to the machine. He had only watched it from the other end of the department as it brought in its trophies. But from what he had seen, it acted like it hadn't been built with the same social programming Connor had. There was no awkward but friendly politeness from it, no unsettling attempts at smalltalk from a machine that wanted to become more compatible with its team. 

Shit, was he feeling nostalgic for Connor raiding his desk for things to bring up in conversations with him? For Connor just repeating his own interests back at him trying to get Hank to like him more? At the time, it had been almost surreal, right on the border of being funny. Had he been in less of a shit mood, he might have even laughed when Connor had tried to appeal to his music tastes in songs the android had probably never listened to. Had _definitely_ never listened to, really.  
Hank could remember what he had said after that in a distinct clarity, however.  


_Listen asshole, if it was up to me I'd throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it, so stop pissing me off!_

Why had he said that to him? Why had he said that at all? God, it was a fucking stupid thing to be feeling guilty over now, after everything, but he felt it. He regretted it. 

On his desk, his phone gave a quick little vibration, a tiny buzz, reminding him he still had an unviewed notification. Well, that was something to do at his desk besides looking at the faces of the new red ice overdose deaths and red ice related assault cases that rolled onto his plate every day. He flicked through his lock screen, and the single lone notification popped up. 

_You've been tagged in a post by 707378687769!_ The notification cheerily informed him. He squinted at the string of random numbers, the tiny preview icon in the notification a blur of red lighting and shadows. He tapped on the display, and his phone pulled up the post he had apparently been tagged in. 

It was a video post, the autoplay unhelpfully blaring out a high energy house song, the beat strumming obnoxious and loud in the space around his desk, the video itself flashes of red lights and a panning spotlight. He startled, his ears burning in embarrassment, immediately tapping to pause the video. It was only then that he made out the subject of the video. Underneath all the flash and glamour, the camera was focused on a nearly nude human figure, paused in a blurred spin around a dance pole.  
Beneath the video was a massive fucking tag cloud, what had to have been hundreds of accounts and subjects thrown in at random to get the video seemingly as much exposure as it could. 

It was a fucking pornbot tagging him. "God damn it." He sneered under his breath. One would think after all this time and advanced AI algorithms curating the web, they'd have learned to filter the stupid things out. Apparently not. He considered blocking the account before he eventually just settled for closing out the tab. He set his phone back down, glancing around him to see if any of the other DPD staff noticed the miniature explosion of noise his phone had gone off with. 

Right then, the only one at a desk was the RK900. The android, seemingly, had not even glanced his way. 

He watched the android. From his seat, he could see its grey eyes darting around, focusing on something for a millisecond before moving on. Its LED was in a steady yellow rotation, confirming information was being streamed to it. He had no idea what it was thinking as it worked. Even when he had been with Connor, contemplating what was actually going on inside of his skull was no small mystery to him. 

Time stretched on, and he found himself unable to look away from the machine. He'd never spoken with it. He'd never _tried_. 

Maybe because he was afraid of what he would find out. 

Hank took in a long, steadying breath, and rose up from his seat. There was no one else around, Gavin either filing something or out in the break room, drinking coffee and shooting the shit with a human coworker. He and the RK900 were alone. 

This might be his chance to get some questions answered. 

He came over to the android's desk, his hands at his sides, tucked into his coat pockets. It was starting to feel stuffy being indoors with his overcoat on, but he knew from experience if he took it off he'd start to get chilly again. The heater was always shoddy in deep winter. Fowler always balked at the idea of replacing the central air with a newer system. Two static, unchanging pieces of his life. 

The android did not look up or disconnect from the system as he lingered beside it. 

"Hey." He spoke up, finally. Faux casual, like he was addressing a human. The single word sounded dumb even to his own ears. 

It at least got a reaction out of the RK900. The spinning LED went from yellow back into a default, unmoving blue, and it withdrew its hand from the computer, the silicone warping back over to cover up its chasis with imitation human skin. "Lieutenant Hank Anderson." It greeted him in turn, looking up his way. Its face was steady, expression neutral. 

_Like Connor's had been in the footage--_

"Is there something I can do for you, Lieutenant Anderson?" It asked, before he could speak up or gather his thoughts, a step forward into his space without making a single move. Hank swallowed, furrowed his brow. 

"Yeah. You can." He paused for a moment, noticing the way the android's pupil flicked around his face in tiny movements, likely gauging whatever expression it found on his face. He took in another breath, that time in order to brace himself. The next words from him poured out in one go. "Can I ask you a personal question?" 

The RK900 blinked once, _Connor's_ delicate eyelashes batting with the motion. "Yes, you may. But be advised that my ability to answer depends on what I am authorized to say." 

"Alright." This was a bad idea. "I want to know what happened to the RK800 model named Connor, serial number," He still remembered it. Android serial numbers were like phone numbers, just short enough that the human mind was comfortable with wrapping it up in long term memory, "313 248 317, dash--" he trailed off, his eye catching on the serial number emblazoned on the RK900's. It was the same nine digit serial number as Connor's, just with different end digits. He wasn't sure why that sent a pang of heaviness through his chest, but it did. 

"--I am aware of which RK800 model you are referring to." the RK900 spoke up before he could finish rattling off the end of the number. There was something colder in the steely gaze, aimed back at him. "You are also already aware of what has happened to the unit. It completed its mission, and returned to Cyberlife. Though it was successful, it was deemed to be a flawed model and deactivated. This was all included in the report sent to your department by Cyberlife regarding the Jericho incident. This information has been available to you since November 13th of this year." 

The android might as well have backhanded him across the face. He scrunched up his brow, peeled back his lips from the his teeth like a dog might. "Yeah, but--What happened to him? Did you just throw him in a fucking landfill when you were done with him? What the hell did you people _do_ with him?" Connor's body. For all he knew it was out there somewhere, laid out, lifeless and still under all the snow that had been falling on Detroit. 

The RK900 raised its chin slightly, regarding him again, scanning his face. Making a judgement on him. "The RK800 model was an advanced prototype." It answered, apparently coming to a decision. "It would have been dismantled, so any parts that had value could be reused. Any parts that did not would have been discarded." Its gaze returned to meeting his eyes, cool and collected. "Does that answer your question, Lieutenant Anderson?" There was no sympathy, feigned or otherwise, in its voice or on its face. There was nothing at all. 

He didn't know what to say to that. Some part of him wished he hadn't asked. Some part of him wished he could take back the image in his head of Connor being pulled apart and dissected like a laboratory frog. He hoped he would have been dead by then. He hoped they had killed him first. 

When he didn't answer, the RK900 continued, "I need to return to my work." Its LED made a single, rapid rotation in yellow. "There has just been a report made of yet another red ice overdose death, this time from the Henry Ford Hospital Emergency Center. Based on that, I believe you need to return to your work as well." 

The android outstretched its hand towards the computer again and, without saying another word, dismissed Hank from its presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place in a somewhat unusual world state. [You can view a flowchart depicting the world state here.](http://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1ncGw-sanK5e3DcJvkg8k72OHj0rUvVwi) It can be considered to be occurring during the "Kamski Ending", in the time frame before Hank is shown committing suicide.
> 
> There are two small differences to that world state in this fic. Firstly, Connor was able to successfully find Jericho and fully deviated at Markus' urging. At that moment in time, Cyberlife resumed full control of him and forced him to assassinate Markus. 
> 
> Secondly, as Markus led a pacifistic rebellion, the android "death camps" never came into play, meaning older models of androids remain in use, and small pockets of deviants exist in the population which are still being sought out and managed by deviant hunters.
> 
> A note on tags: The Sexual Slavery and Consent Issues tags are in reference to androids designed for sexual use, which will be appearing in the fic. Hank Anderson considers them to be unable to consent even if not deviated, and the tags reflect that. Tags will be updated if more graphic depictions of content appear in the fic.


	2. USER IDENTIFIED

Hank Anderson woke up to the frantic screeching of his phone, stock sound effects of various emergency vehicles and car horns going off all at once in a messy cancaphony. He jerked upwards into a sitting position, his first conscious sensation being the immediate ache in his back, what felt like a pulled muscle trailing all the way down his spine. "Oh.... _Christ_." He groaned, an equally uncomfortable headache pounding in time with the pulses of pain up and down his back.  
He'd fallen asleep watching a movie on the couch, apparently, the splash screen for _Bicentennial Man_ still left on his TV, a timestamp showing he had "watched it" five hours ago. An open bottle of whiskey rested on the end table along with a glass. Just a look at where the level of the fluid had dropped to told him how much he had been drinking last night. Half blindly, he slapped a hand across the end table, searching for and finding his phone. His alarm was silenced, and some of the pressure squeezing down on his temples lifted with it. He checked the time.

11:37 AM

Well. It looked like he wouldn't be arriving early today.

He went through his morning rituals as if he were trudging through freezing mud, sluggish and halting. He fed Sumo and then fed himself. Another shot of whiskey and a cup of coffee. A hot shower did next to nothing for his headache or back ache, but it got some of the stale alcohol and dried spittle out of his hair and beard. He paused with a towel around his waist, looking over the shirts in his closet. He was running out of clean dress shirts, since it had been a while since he'd mustered up the energy to get everything all piled up and shoved into the wash. But crowded up into the back of his closet was the blue and white stripped shirt that Connor had picked out for him all those nights ago on their trip to The Eden Club. The dumb android had probably concluded it was the least ugly shirt he owned, if he had come with any sort of sense of color theory or visual pattern recognition. He snorted softly at the thought, imagining Connor looking through the rest of his hideous patterned shirts and settling on the least offensive one to his android sensibilities. It had just been a little thing. He hardly remembered it with how drunk he'd been at the time, but it still stood out in his memory. He hadn't worn it since he'd cleaned it sometime between then and now.  
He plucked a different shirt off a hanger and, with his back stinging in complaint the entire time, eventually dressed himself.

 

_"With the continued breakdown of the north polar jet stream, Detroit is expected to receive an especially harsh winter this year. Citizens are advised to remain indoors and avoid exposure as temperatures will continue to fall. Cyberlife has also put out their annual warning reminding users that many domestic models of androids cannot withstand extended periods in severe cold and may go into emergency standby or deactivate when left outside. For further information on which models are most susceptible to extreme cold---"_

Hank's attention reflexively went to the sidewalks along the streets. There were very few people out in this weather, some people bundled up in thick jackets and pleated boots, hustling as fast as they could to get to where they needed to be. There were androids out there, he could see at least one every block, muscular looking social service models with shovels, making sure the sidewalks were clear as the snow continued to fall. They looked underdressed compared to the humans, all suited up in their sleek uniforms, as if letting everyone know they were androids was more important than keeping them warm.

They were probably fine, he told himself. They probably couldn't even feel the cold.

After a moment, he flicked the radio, switching over to a different news channel as he turned his attention back to the road. He was just wanting to hear a traffic report.

 _"It seems as though the switch over to the next generation of androids is taking a toll on the Detroit City Management this year,"_ The anchor immediately announced. _"We are seeing a ton of intersections where snow has piled up before the plowing systems can get to it. Right now I'm looking at an accident on M-10 when an automated vehicle apparently skidded on a patch of compressed ice and went over the divider._ There was a reflexive wave of full body tension in his body, filling his lungs with a deep breath and holding it there. _Thankfully no one was injured, but all through traffic is being redirected to other access roads as service workers attempt to detangle the twenty stranded automated vehicles still on the highway."_

Well shit. Hank sighed, releasing the breath he was holding. He readjusted his route to take the long way to the precinct.

 

No one paid him much attention as he lumbered into the department and settled in at his desk. The brief moment of jogging out of the parking lot and into the building had been like a bucket of ice water thrown at his face, snowflakes melting into freezing water in his hair now that he was inside. Coffee helped. Coffee was great. He downed his second cup of the day as he pulled up his reports. New overdoses, and someone had called in a store robbery from someone believed to be under the influence, with the perpetrator still at large. He pulled up the camera footage from the department store, watching as a masked woman threatened the android cashier with a gun. The android had reacted calmly and soothingly in contrast to the panicked human patrons of the store, and it had placed the 911 call even as it had continued to interact with the robber. The perpetrator had made it out with some cash bills, but no one had gotten hurt. The woman's staggering movements, unsteady hand and the way she belted out shouts at anyone who moved indeed pointed to her hitting a red ice low. She was probably on the way to withdrawal.

The light from the computer screen was making his eyes prickle, and he scrunched up his face, willing the pounding in his head to stop.  
When he could manage to think again, he jotted down notes to go out and question the department store staff later that afternoon. He at first set a reminder for 1 PM, only for his phone to cheerfully remind him that 1 PM was just thirty minutes away.

Hastily, he pushed it back to 2 PM.

That gave him some time to wind himself up a little, at least, let the caffeine sink in and let himself get ready to go out and interact with people. Or, interact with androids, he guessed. There probably was at least one human employee at the department store but he had no idea if they were around at the time.

He got out of his seat with his cup in hand, looking around at the department space. No Gavin, no RK900 in sight. The air seemed clearer because of it. He decided to head back around to the break room to refill his cup with an ill advised third serving of coffee.

"Yeah, throat slit all the way to his neck vertebrate, like he'd been butchered. They found him in one of the snowdrifts on the side of the road while they were clearing out the sidewalks." He heard Chris talking before seeing him, he and Ben leaning over a table together in the corner. His ears perked immediately at the topic of their discussion. "Forensics is trying to figure out where he'd been killed, since he'd been completely bled out and there was almost no blood where they'd found him. But all this snow is making it a real hassle to find anything. You know, they're just trying to hash out a time of death right now." He added, gesturing at the window in explanation. "According to his girlfriend he'd only been missing since the evening before, so someone must have grabbed him, cut him open, and dumped him all in one night. Poor guy." 

Jesus. It wasn't his business, ultimately. Fowler had put him on Vice and not Homicide for a reason, like he'd expected Hank to redeem himself going back to his old ways. Like the young Lieutenant Anderson of a decade ago was going to emerge from him like a beautiful butterfly after being placed in another red ice investigation. He fought back a sneer at the thought, wrestling his face into a more pleasant expression as he approached the two.

"Hey Ben, hey Chris."

"Hank!" The man's face brightened, reaching out a hand to clasp him on the shoulder, Chris flashing him a smile in turn. "Good to see you around today. I know the workload you're under has got to be hammering you."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it. I'm heading out of the office in an hour to ask about a robbery."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about the department store hold up. You'll get to talk to a bunch of walking ATMs for an hour, I'm sure that will be great." Ben gave a gentle chuckle at his expense, one that tapered off pretty fast when Hank didn't join him in laughing at the joke. 

"Hey, uh," He switched the subject before the silence got too awkward for either of them, "You know where Reed went off to today?"

"Yeah, he and Con--" Ben's eyes went wide, a brief mortified look on his face before he caught himself. He was just as quick to notice the way Hank had flinched at the aborted syllable. "Shit, sorry, he and the 900 went out on a job about an hour ago. Something about a suspected deviant working at a child care center."

He grimaced, eager to move on from yet another DPD officer calling the RK900 'Connor'. "Well, that sounds horrific. What exactly happened?"

"Well, that's the thing, nothing really happened. Cyberlife's apparently been urging people to call in on androids acting freaky, you know? So sometimes we get people phoning in--and that's them now." Ben's gaze moved from him to a spot just beyond him.

Hank jolted, throwing a look of his own over his shoulder at the entrance hallway to the precinct. There was the RK900 coming through the turnstile, and following after him was Gavin and an android he was leading out in front of him, his hands holding her wrists behind her back as he guided her along.

The android was a model he'd personally never seen before, and when that happened there was always that flicker of his brain insisting that it wasn't an android at all, it was a human, a human stranger. An android being modeled after a middle aged or older person was uncommon compared to the eternally youthful features of most androids, but they were out there. The most well known ones were the golf instructors designed for old retirees, the GL400s, kindly old gentlemen looking models that would help people take strokes off their game and drive them along in golf carts. While all domestic androids were intended to look nonthreatening in one way or another (like the gentle smiles of the PL600s or the boyish looks of the WB200s), the androids designed to look older were an extreme realization of that design philosophy.

This model in particular looked as if she'd been made to call to mind grandmothers or elderly kindergarten teachers. Her skin was thin and artfully wrinkled with artificial age, her hair done up in the long out of fashion permed curls elderly women still styled with. Her blue banded hospital scrubs were gently patterned with animal faces and paw prints. She was petite, shorter than Gavin, and she looked even smaller bent under his hold. No sooner had the two of them crossed through the turnstile did she stop in place, resisting against Gavin's physical push to move her along.

"Hey." Gavin raised his voice, loud enough for Hank to hear across the department. "Get moving."

Hank was cutting across the office area before he fully realized what he was doing.

"--Officer," He caught the android's voice as he approached, and though she certainly sounded older, her voice had a soothing, clear timber, enunciated and easy to understand. She spoke with her head down, her eyes staring blankly forward at the floor. "I am cooperating with the investigation. I am not resisting."

"Yeah?" Gavin sneered, placing a hand on the top of her head to push her more insistently. The android jerked in place, but did not move from her spot. 

"However," She continued. "I am a caretaker for a critically ill patient. I must be allowed to return before 3 PM in order to administer care for his continued health."

As soon as he neared them, RK900's attention snapped to him, and in two long strides he moved to stand between him and the other android. "Lieutenant Anderson."

He side stepped the android, moving past his broad shoulder to get around to Gavin. "Hey, you mind telling me what the fuck is going on here?"

Gavin greeted him with a sour smile, one of his uglier little sneers of derision at being reminded Hank existed, "What the fuck does it look like? We had a call for a suspected deviant, we took it in." Gavin gave her another shove, and this time the android obeyed the command, walking forward once more. "You mind getting out of the way?"

"'Suspected' deviant? Based on _what_ , exactly?"

"Android's been acting like a deviant, that's what. Being overprotective, defensive at parents coming in to visit their kids, stuff like that."

"Overprotective?" He repeated, in clear disbelief. Just hearing those words out of Gavin's mouth had him feeling pissed. From the angle he was at, Hank couldn't see the android's LED, couldn't know what kind of reaction she was having, but she hadn't once looked his way, staring resolutely at the ground. "She's a fucking caretaker, of course she's protective. That's her fucking _job_. You're telling me you dragged an android all the way out here from a children's hospital based on... nothing? No evidence?"

"Lieutenant Anderson." The RK900 was stepping into his space again, insistent on acting as a physical barrier between him and Gavin. "--As part of my role in finding and eliminating deviants, I am to determine whether or not identified androids have deviated. In order to proceed with my investigation, I have brought the android here for questioning."

"How exactly are you going to 'determine' whether or not she's a deviant?" He repeated, tipping up his chin in an implicit challenge. The RK900 was almost as bulky as him, almost as tall. Physically imposing in his sleek white overcoat in a way Connor had never been. Intimidating in a way Connor was never intended to be. "What, are you going to ask her about turtles? Tell her to repeat words back at you until she snaps? This is fucked."

It was small, almost imperceptible, but the RK900 narrowed its eyes at him. Like somehow he'd managed to piss it off a little. And boy if that didn't make him feel a little better.  
And then it spoke up. "Lieutenant Anderson. You have been removed from any and all cases relating to androids. Is that not true?" 

"I ain't _asking_ to be on your case. I'm telling you that this right here is fucked up."

"Did Captain Fowler tell you _why_ you have been removed from any and all cases relating to androids, Lieutenant Anderson?"

He blinked. Jeffrey hadn't, now that he recalled it. He hadn't really questioned it at the time considering the amount of deviants they had inadvertently (or purposefully) let get away, and the whole incident with Agent Prick Perkins. But he'd never gotten the exact reason from Cyberlife's end. "No. Not really."

The RK900's stare bored into him harder than he'd ever felt it before, like it was finally regarding him for the first time. Like the way a human looked at an insect after it had bitten him. "From analysis based on the evidence and case logs from your investigation into the Jericho incident, Cyberlife unanimously came to the conclusion that you are a deviant sympathizer and cannot be trusted to handle cases relating to them."

Hank suddenly felt ill. Very ill. The hangover this morning was nothing compared what was rolling through his body right then. 

Gavin's mouth fell open in shock for just a tick before it morphed into a hideous smirk. "Are you for real? That was the reason? Holy shit, Hank." He threw back a barking laugh, the android in his hold remaining still and staring at the ground as he cackled, "Holy shit. That's what this is about?"

"So it would seem." The RK900 concluded, solemnly.

"That's..." He was distantly aware that by now Ben and Chris had made their way over to see what was going on. "That's not..." He tried to offer a defense for himself. For the android's sake. For his own. Anything to throw this off of him. 

"You will not interfere in this case, or any other android case going forward." The RK900 told him. Somehow it made it sound like a simple statement of fact rather than an order, which would have been something he could have disagreed with, pulled rank on, or fought. "This conversation is over, lieutenant."

The RK900 stood in place in front of him as Gavin walked the android past them, wordlessly assuring his compliance with its presence. When it was finally satisfied, it turned to follow them to the interrogation rooms.  
Hank found it difficult to move, standing there in front of the turnstiles, hearing the distant voices of the receptionists just on the other side of the lobby.

"You alright, Hank?" Ben asked him, after a moment.

"Yeah." He drew in a breath, straightening himself out, jolting in to motion all at once, from his nervous hands to his feet. Moving, just trying to get the feeling of being a rat in a trap out of his system. "I'm fine."

"What exactly was that all about? We heard you arguing with--"

"It's nothing." He cut him off fast. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter. It was just. " He threw up one of his hands in a vague, useless gesture. "I had some concerns with how they were, uh. Running things. It's nothing. Shouldn't have said anything." He walked past the two of them, not looking at their faces. He didn't want to see in their eyes what they were thinking about him then.

 

At 1:45 PM, his phone gave a small buzz. notifying him of his approaching appointment. Hank was back at his desk, still trying to prepare to head out to the department store. He looked up to see Cyberlife employees entering the department, just as they usually did every other day.

He felt his stomach drop.

Within a few minutes, they were carrying out the android in one of their bodybags. Unlike other androids, there wasn't a bullet hole in her. She looked untouched, perfectly still like she was sleeping. She was shrouded in clear plastic tarp, Cyberlife's logo overlaid in white paint and then in shadow across the features of her face.  
The RK900 walked out of the interrogation room alongside another Cyberlife employee. "The LB300 was a caretaker at the Couzens' Children's Hospital." It held out a small chip. There was a faint tinge of blue on his fingertips. A fresh stain that didn't have time to evaporate yet. "Its patient will need a temporary caretaker by 3 PM today. The necessary instructions for the individual's care are here." It explained, handing the small memory bank off.

"Understood. Keep up the excellent work, 87."

Hank canceled the appointment. He got up and left the precinct.

 

His phone vibrated in the middle of the night, informing him that he had a new notification. The blueish light from the phone screen briefly illuminated his bedroom, casting stark shadows on the discarded dirty clothes across the floor and the trash and empty bottles on the nightstand. Hank rolled over and went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might have inadvertently created an earlier version of this story and then deleted it trying to post it properly so I apologize to anyone who had this bookmarked and had that deleted because of me bungling on Ao3.
> 
> Also, expect more escalation coming soon in part 3.


	3. CONNECTION ESTABLISHED

"This is Hank Anderson. It is 1 o'clock on December twenty-second. It's a Tuesday, by the way. And I have with me here, uh,"

He glanced down at where his phone was, the red light near its camera lens confirming it was recording. The android cashier on the other side of the counter leaned in minutely to bring herself closer to the receiver. "ST300, serial number 228 290 633. Designated name: Samantha."

"Right, Samantha then."

They were situated in a cramped back corner of the department store, right across from the tiny customer service koisk, which was currently unattended, an old fashioned bell sitting within to call Samantha or another associate over if needed. It was the quietest place he could find, but even where they were he could hear the dull roar of voices and footsteps from the shoppers. There was a speaker that sounded like it was coming from right over his head, an android sung cover of an ancient Christmas pop song currently jogging in circles inside his skull. Every year, seemingly every store in the country started playing the same twenty songs on repeat starting mid November, and this year was no different.  
Samantha was a standard looking ST300, brown hair, full face of makeup that coordinated with the green Valiroad uniform she was wearing. He usually saw ST300s as receptionists but they weren't uncommon in retail jobs either. Her facial features had probably been tweaked to make her look younger, more college aged, with what looked like a bit of shimmer in her eyeshadow and lipstick. She was there to pitch membership cards to other young women to get them to buy more clothes, more or less. She smiled at him, as blank and friendly as every other retail worker android he'd seen. "Before we get started, I am required to state that any claims made by me are not representative of the Valiroad company, nor are they official statements of the Valiroad company."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it already. I've been in the business longer than you have, I know how this works." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he halted. Why had he said that? He would have never have said that to a human's face, and instead he was sitting there being rude as shit to an android for no reason. He dropped his gaze, looking back down to the phone recording every word. Ensuring he'd remember how much of an ass he was already starting out as.

The android, to her credit, continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I have, however, been released to make statements to the police that are interpretations of the visual and audio data I have recorded, with such interpretations being generated as per the programming put in place by Cyberlife."

That admist all the legallese dragged a snort out of Hank. "So the ball's in Cyberlife's court. Got it."

Samantha blinked back at him at his snide remark, her brow uncreased but the look of momentary confusion was there across her otherwise perfect features. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Don't worry about it." He took in a deep breath, trying to rein himself in, trying to get himself to act like a professional. "I'm thinking out loud. Would you be able to identify a suspect out of a police line up or provide witness testimony in court if needed?"

"Yes, I have been released to provide further testimony if needed."

"Great."

It had taken a lot out of him to get out of bed that morning. Instead of arriving at the precinct he'd simply called up the department store and drove there after confirming with the staff there were witnesses currently on duty he could speak with. He had confirmed through speaking with the other employees that there had been a human staff member present during the robbery, but said employee hadn't seen much. Instead he spent half an hour questioning other androids before the cashier in the CC footage was activated from a rest state for him to talk to.

"So, you weren't able to get any facial recognition data from the suspect?" He asked, looking over his own notes on the case.

"No, the lower half of her face was concealed, and she was wearing dark makeup to conceal the contures of her eyes. Otherwise I would have included her identity in my emergency call." Facial recognition could be finicky at times, even after all the advancements in the field. It had to be a good angle and there had to be enough of the face visible. Sometimes just eyes were enough to get a read, but some criminals used black and white paint to throw off sensors in addition to facial covering. This robber doing so might point to her being a career thief... or she might've just looked up online how to avoid getting flagged by android facial recognition.

"Did you identify the type of firearm used in the hold up?"

He watched the android's LED switch into a rotating yellow as she apparently looked up information on the spot. "An AOBC M&P9 Shield." 

That sounded about right. He made a quick note of that for his own records. "Did you happen to see the serial number of the handgun?"

Her next LED rotation was a little faster. "Unfortunately, no, the firearm's serial number was angled away from me during the altercation. I did not see it. Was the serial number not visible in the camera footage?"

"Nah, angle wasn't good for us either."

He continued with the back and forth, asking about the suspect's behavior (erratic, aggressive), whether she touched anything that might've left DNA traces (the suspect was wearing gloves and barely touched anything) and was mostly left with a bunch of dead ends. The department store was undoubtedly insured against that level of theft and no one had been injured so there wasn't much push to handle the case by any of the parties involved. Samantha of course seemed entirely unbothered by any part of the incident, the worst that had happened had been the customers present who had gotten scared. He could have filed everything he'd learned that day away and let it just stay on the record to pick up again if the suspect resurfaced, but for his own sake he decided to probe further.

Shit, it'd give him something to do and keep him away from the precinct a bit longer.

"So what happened when the suspect took the cash and left? Did you see anything as she was going?"

Samantha's face lit up at the question, her eyes brightening as if she had just come to a realization. "Yes, I did move to watch her leave through the store windows. She used a vehicle to flee the scene."

"Did you see what model it was?"

"Yes, I identified it as a Detroit Taxi autonomous vehicle. Unfortunately I did not see the registration number of the vehicle from my viewpoint, nor the destination she gave to the vehicle."

Hank snorted again, rubbing a hand over his face. "Right, of course not, that would make it too easy for me." _Behave,_ he reminded himself. "Well, that about answers all my questions. Do you have anything else you'd like to add?"

"Yes, there is one last thing, though I don't know if it would be helpful to you, since you are not an android."

He raised his head from his hand, looking at her curiously. "Uh, alright, shoot, I guess."

"Okay, give me just a moment." He wasn't sure what he was expecting her to give him, watching as she went back into a deeper thinking state. She was perfectly still for several seconds as her LED spun. And then, abruptly, _"Freeze! Don't you fucking move!"_ She yelled, her voice booming and ragged, a very different woman's voice than the polite tones she had been using before. It jarred the shit out of him, one of his hands reflexively jerking towards his service weapon holstered at his side while the other braced on the counter. In the next second he realized what she was doing, and he was left looking around, making sure no one else was close enough to hear and be alarmed by Samantha physically playing back the voice of the suspect. _"Take the money out of the register and put it on the counter--NOW!"_ Her brows and eyes twitched in apparent concentration as she continued to mimic the suspect. _"Do you want to get shot? Back the fuck up! Okay, now hurry up. Hurry up, I'm not going to wait."_

The last sound in imitation of the suspect is an angry grunt, and then Samantha's mimickry ended. "That is all I have recorded from the altercation. An android may be able to reverse engineer a voice recognition profile from it."

He wondered if that was something Connor would have been able to do. "I'll see if I can't pass it along to one of the guys in our department then. Well, Samantha, thank you very much for all your cooperation." He held out his hand for her to shake it. She hesitated a moment before returning the gesture with a sparkling smile. She had a warm handshake, fingers curled firm and steady around the back of his palm. "I'll contact you or the store if I have any more questions relating to the case."

"Of course. Have a nice day, Lieutenant Anderson."

 

He shuffled back into his car parked on the curb outside of the store. There were speakers out on the streets admist the hanging lights and boughs of fake greenery and ribbons, the warbling sound of Christmas music following him even outside of the store. It was only muffled and not silenced when he opened his car door and climbed inside.

_I'll be home for Christmas_  
_You can plan on me_  


There was already a dusting of snow across the windshield. After turning the engine on he activated the wipers, the snow immediately pushed from the two semicircles across the glass. When the car turned on, so did his police "radio" (the colloquial term, the technology had long since moved on to a specialized encrypted digital communication system), the music outside almost immediately drowned out by the mumbling dispatch and the replies from active officers out on the streets. It was mostly beat cops out, traffic stops being reported with some domestic disturbances. White noise, more or less. He hadn't bothered turning it on when he'd been out on cases before, but now that he was back with Vice and going out on the streets, he'd started driving with it active.

From the inside of the car, he peered around the street. His windows were fogging up from the change in temperature, the glass resisting his attempts to clear it even as he wiped them down with one of his sleeves. Eventually he spotted the tiny traffic camera where it was perched across the lightpole on the intersection a few stores back. Even though they were in a commercial center, he knew the city well enough to know the camera was state owned, not privately owned. He dialed up the number he'd memorized for the Michigan Department of Transportation and was greeted with the familiar automated answering portal. He typed in the relevant extension numbers, and the system redirected him with a click and a dial tone.

 _"Hello, thank you for contacting MDOT. You are currently on the line with an android agent. My name is Andrew, staff ID number 5764, how can I help you today?"_ As usual, it was an android tasked with the busywork for humans. Android call centers, android cashiers, android cars. He couldn't ever blame people for setting up the no androids permitted decals on their private venues or establishments. A person could go on eight errands across the city of Detroit and never speak to another human being in the process. He'd once considered those no android zones to be a place of refuge for himself. Back before Connor came along and barreled right into one and into his life.

"This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department. I'm calling on behalf of an armed robbery that occurred yesterday morning. I need a digital copy of a traffic camera recording sent to my department for review."

 _"Understood."_ Andrew was at least polite and quick to respond. _"Do you have the camera location and time period?"_

"Yeah." He pulled out his notes. "Traffic camera is..." he ducked his head as he leaned around the side of his seat, looking to the nearby street signs, "Intersection of West Warren Avenue and Casey Avenue, facing east. Robbery occurred yesterday, December 21st, 10:12 to 10:18 in the morning, so just get me ten to ten-thirty if possible."

 _"Understood!"_ The android's response was practically a chirp. _"Please hold while I process your request."_

"Yeah, whatever." He grunted, and not a moment later his phone was switched over to typical stock elevator music. He set his phone on his dashboard and his hands across his waist, prepared to wait as his car idled in the snow.  
He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds filtering in around him. It was a mess of _noise_ all layered over one another, but he could hone in on the individual strands. The almost pleasantly jazzy hold tone coming in from his phone. The deadpan voices coming in over the radio. When he focused enough, he could almost draw in on the Christmas music still playing just outside.

_I'll be home for Christmas_  
_If only in my dreams_  


 

**_"This is Detective Gavin Reed, requesting immediate assistance. Officer down, I repeat, officer down! We are engaging multiple armed androids, requesting assistance from any units available, over!"_**

Hank sat upright with a jerk, his hands immediately moving to the radio to turn up the volume.

The dispatch responded. **_"10-4 Reed, what is your location? Over."_**

 ** _"3471 Merrick Street. That's three-four-seven-one Merrick Street, over."_** Gavin shot back, sounding out of breath or scared out of his mind. Shit, that was just five minutes away from him.

He picked up his own receiver, "This is LT Anderson, I am moving to assist, over."

For once in his goddamn life Reed didn't have anything smart to say in response to that, and Hank knew whatever mess he was in, it must have been bad. **_"We need an ambulance out here!"_**

He pulled up off of the curb and onto the street, heading down the intersection and onto the main highway. This was bad. This was bad, bad, bad. There must have been someone else there with Gavin and the RK900, otherwise he wouldn't have been calling in an ambulance. Maybe a another detective, maybe forensics. 

_"Hello? Lieutenant Hank Anderson?"_ The person on the other end of his phone suddenly spoke up amidst the wild back and forth going on in his car. Shit, he'd completely forgotten about the call he'd placed. _"I've finished processing your request, and I will be able to--is everything alright?"_

"Everything's fine, just send over the damn files!" He barked in the vague direction of the receiver, his hand scrambling across the dashboard to hit the end call prompt on the surface of his phone.

**_"EMS number 402 has been dispatched to 3417 Merrick Street. ETA ten minutes, over."_**

Hank was going to get there first. He set his jaw into a hard clench as he pulled off the highway, turning onto a smaller street and into a completely different part of town. There were many places in Detroit where the seemingly infinite prosperity of Cyberlife hadn't reached, places that seemed like they were rotting from the inside, buildings older than Hank starting to fall apart either into their own footprints or onto the residents still living within. This was one of them, the whole area of Woodbridge in a state of slow decay while the cranes raising fresh new highways around it stood like uncaring giants. 

**_"Area is not secure, repeat, area is not secure!"_** Gavin was shouting back over the line. **_"Hostiles are still present!"_** He could hear gunshots as he approached the address, half a second before they were echoed louder over the radio's slight delay.

There was storefront after abandoned storefront on the empty street, condemned buildings left to stand hollow and unused. The signage was so faded Hank struggled to pick out the address numbers on them, until it got to the point he was just following the sounds of gunfire. He found himself pulling in to the empty parking lot of what was large enough to have been a grocery store, one of the countless chains that had existed before dying off in the mid 2020's. The once white painted face of it had yellowed and greyed, stains from where birds had nested in the gaps in the neglected roof trailing filth down the front of it. He spotted Gavin's car (a personal vehicle, like his own) parked at a side entrance before he found the address sign for the building, and there was the expected police vehicle parked beside it. There were no emergency lights active on either vehicle, no sirens, like they hadn't been expecting company.

"This is Anderson, I'm at the scene, I'm armed and I'm moving in, over--" He shouted into the radio before he was leaving his car behind, service weapon raised and in hand. The sound of the radio confirming further dispatch trailed off as his feet crunched over the thick layer of snow over the concrete. His heart was thrumming heavy in his throat. He could still hear gunfire going off, irregular _pop-pop-pop_ s of handguns through the walls of the building.  
Knowing full well he had no idea what he was about to walk into, he kicked in the unlocked side door and threw himself inside.

He immediately found himself in the rows and rows of a half lit grocery store. The skylights on the ceiling that once let sun in were mostly blotted out by the snow, only a dim grey light drifting in through the glass. Instead most of the light was coming from a handful of floodlights in the back of the building, distantly illuminating decrepit signs of sales long, long past, and the store departments that now stood empty.

In the brief flash of light pouring in from the door behind him, he could spot Gavin, pressed behind an empty display unit, ducked on his knees with his pistol in hand. For a second, their eyes met, a look of recognition on Gavin's face but not a hint of relief. And there, down what was once the center aisle of the store, was a splatter of red, human blood, the kind that was propelled by a bullet wound. In his peripherals he could see sprays of blue blood on the walls, fresh and unevaporated. There were other human shapes in the store, moving fast, ducking in between pieces of furniture and shelving units.

Then the door closed and he was bathed back into the semi darkness. For a moment, all he could see was the glowing blue of the RK900's back triangle somewhere deeper into the store.

"Hank!" Gavin howled, "Get the fuck down!"

A muzzle flash illuminated a figure behind rows of shelves and Hank was forced to immediately bolt behind the nearest solid surface for cover as a bullet ricocheted off the doorway behind him. His eyes turned back to the bloodstain across the old linoleum, and this time he spotted a hand clutching on the edge of a shelf, the fingers trembling as the owner attempted to drag themselves along the floor. The officer was still alive.

Hank carefully kept the shelving units between himself and where the gunmen seemed to be, keeping his head down and moving fast going up the aisles to get closer to the fallen police officer. Further in the store, and he could see the man's face where he laid.

"Holy shit. Chris!" He called out to him, the sound answered by more gunfire that had him nearly throwing himself to the floor. Chris was in bad shape, his uniform soaked through and darkened by the blood welling across his chest where he'd been hit. There was a pool of it around him, he'd been left to bleed out for too long. The man's eyes were glassy when he lolled his head over to look his way, and the arm he'd been using to try and crawl to safety reached out towards him.

"I'm getting Chris out of here, cover me!" He barked, hoping Gavin could hear him. Hoping he could do a damn thing to help as he rushed forward and grabbed the man's outstretched hand. He could see more bullets impacting the floor about a foot from Chris' position, the sharp _ping_ as one bounced off the metal of the shelves. He struggled to keep his eyes on Chris as he got a grip on him and started dragging him back, back towards the door somewhere behind them. The movement smeared the pool of blood under Chris in a dark trail behind him. He had to just believe that he wasn't about to get gunned down doing this.

In his peripherals he could see a flash of bright blue, and he looked up to see the RK900 stepping out of cover to return the gunfire, forcing the attackers to focus on it and not Hank or Chris. It bought them several seconds until the two of them made it behind the shelves and the android was forced to retreat. 

There was a deep blue stain welling down from its shoulder where it must have been shot, a part of his brain noticed. The single thought was very quiet under the deafening roar of his pulse.

Somehow they reached the door, Hank shouldering back through it and out into the biting cold and the bright white light of sun bouncing off of snow. He nearly lost his footing as he pulled Chris out of the building, throwing his hand still holding his pistol back behind him to catch his fall. The last few steps were a mad, slippery scramble in the snow, and then the door was shut and for a moment Hank could gasp in air.

"Holy shit. Holy _shit_. You still with me, Chris?" He glanced down at the man. In the better light he could see the two wounds over his chest, the unsteady rise and fall of his ribcage as he labored to keep breathing.

The man in his hold made a wheezing, wet sound. "Yeah, I'm here."

He knelt down in the snow to get his arms under Chris' shoulders, picking him up in a better hold. He could feel the warm blood coming from the exit wounds start to stain through the front of his own jacket. From a distance, he could hear emergency sirens getting closer. "That's the EMS. Stay with me, we're getting away from here." His knees were screaming in protest as he rose to prop them both up, bodily dragging him back away from the building. Chris' heels left two trails in the snow behind them, peppered with cherry red droplets of blood. "How many were in there?" He kept talking, trying to keep the other man focused, as cognizant as he could be. He knew he was doing everything wrong, that he needed to get him lying down and out of the cold to keep the hypovolemic shock from kicking in, but he had to get Chris away from the building if an armed gunman could come running out at any second.

Chris groaned in pain, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to concentrate, "--There were six. But I saw the 900 take one of them out."

"Six? Oh fuck me." The sirens grew louder, and the ambulance was pulling into the parking lot. He waved his free hand at them, wishing he'd had the sense to bring his radio with him that morning. He grabbed for Chris' where it still rested on his shoulder. "Area is not secure, keep the ambulance back from the building!" He barked into the receiver.

The vehicle obeyed, pulling into a stop across the parking lot, EMTs jumping out with a stretcher in tow. He felt like collapsing when they met in the middle, the two medics pulling Chris off of him, getting his legs elevated on the stretcher and parting his uniform to apply coagulant patches over his skin. **_"Other police units still three minutes out, over!"_** He could hear the dispatch over the radio as he knelt in the snow, watching the EMTs load Chris into the vehicle.

Shit.

 

"Get out of the area!" He hurled the order at the medics as he raised his gun in hand once again. "I'm going back inside!"

They didn't have time to tell him what a bad idea it was as he sprinted back across the snow. And it was a fucking bad idea.

He forced the side door back open, rushing back to where he knew cover was. This time he was able to spot them before the door swung back shut. Four human figures standing throughout the store, a fifth crumpled and limp near the back wall. Then Gavin and the RK900, pinned where he'd seen them on his way out. They both had their eyes on him, a shocked expression on Gavin's face momentarily replacing the tense grimace.

The purported sixth android was nowhere to be seen.

The door slammed, everything went dark, and Hank rose from cover to fire on where he'd seen the androids. He saw the sparks from the bullet impacts on the shelving units, but one of the figures darted away from where he was firing on, trying to get somewhere better protected.

Another muzzle flash illuminated Gavin, and somehow he'd managed to hit the retreating android, the figure letting out a warped, buzzing cry as it went down with a slam as its legs gave out underneath it. One more down, three left. They both were showered in answering gunfire from the other androids and Hank was once again throwing himself to the floor, landing hard on his side. That was going to hurt in the morning if he made it out of this alive.

The RK900 was moving again, this time backing up away from the shelf it had been hiding behind, placing its handgun back in its belt holster. From the tiny light cast from its yellow LED, Hank could see a look of concentration on its face, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. It ducked its head down, squared up its shoulders almost like a linebacker. Just as he was about to shout at it to get the fuck back down, it charged.

It slammed its open hands into the shelving unit in front of it and _pushed_.

There was a horrific sound of screeching and bending metal, louder than the gunshots, bursting and reverberating through the air of the store. He watched with wide eyes and an open mouth as the shelf tipped to the side... and then over, colliding with the next row in front of it. The noise grew louder, grew worse, as the shelves continued to topple one over one the other, like dominoes.  
The three active androids fled the chaos and destruction, scrambling to get to the other side of the store that wasn't imploding in on itself. That seemed to be exactly what the RK900 was waiting for as it stepped out into the central aisle, forgoing cover entirely.

Hank could only watch as the android drew its weapon and aimed it in both hands, posture controlled and nearly unmoving. Then, in the next instant, in a single blurred motion, it fired three times--

He saw the nearly simultaneous bursts of blood from the skulls of each of the three androids caught mid stride.

In the echoing stillness following the shots, he could hear their bodies crumple to the ground, the quiet clatter of a gun hitting the floor from being dropped by a lifeless hand.

For a few seconds, no one moved, the sound of groaning metal and gunfire still ringing in everyone's ears.

Gavin was the first to pop up, his pistol still raised and aimed ahead of him as he squinted and looked around the store. He checked each of the five bodies where they lay within the wreckage or in the center aisle. He lowered the gun to grab his radio, "Area clear. Area has been cleared of hostiles, over." He announced, and Hank released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He remained sprawled across the floor for a another moment, rubbing a hand over his face. There were beads of sweat on his brow, loose strands of his hair sticking to it. Eventually he braced a hand on the display beside him and pulled himself back up into a stand. He stumbled out into the open to get a better look at what happened. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could take in the bullet impacts all across the store, dents and torn up cardboard displays seemingly everywhere he looked. The five dead androids sprawled about were all in plainclothes, not one LED to be found, meaning they had all been living among humans or in abandoned spaces like this for some time. Four of them had ruined faces from where the RK900 had shot them in the head, but the fifth that Gavin had taken out looked... off to him. It was a young looking blond haired woman, but Hank couldn't immediately recognize the android's model. In fact its face didn't seem familiar to him at all. But the blue blood covering her chest indicated that it was indeed an android. The one that laid out in the center aisle had been a tall, hulking looking android, with densely muscled arms. The rest of it looked a little ungainly, legs and torso not nearly as muscled, as if the parts didn't match right. It too had a mop of blonde hair on its head, but it definitely wasn't a PL600.

The RK900 was still standing where it had been when it had taken the shot, casually ejecting the magazine from its pistol and examining it. Hank could see that the magazine was empty, as if android had only launched that weird Hail Mary diversion attempt when it was down to exactly three bullets left, one for each enemy gunman. The bullet wound in its shoulder looked like it had closed up by itself, or either way it obviously hadn't hindered its movements. "Lieutenant." It spoke up, without glancing from what it was doing, its hands pulling back the slide to check over the barrel. "You should not have returned to the scene alone. You should have stayed until further backup arrived."

For once, he let out a dry, thoroughly exhausted laugh. "Yeah, fuck me for coming back to help, right?"

"And I believe I told you that you would not be interfering in any more of my cases."

All the humor left him immediately. "Hey, fuck you." He thrust one angry finger back at the android, who was entirely concerning itself with its emptied gun, "I heard a call over the radio and I happened to be nearby. I came to help a downed officer. That's it. I-"

"RK, watch your six!" Gavin was shouting over him, gun raised and pointed at something just over Hank's shoulder. In a span of a single heartbeat, Hank lifted his head to look.

The large android in the center aisle was sitting up, even with a bullet hole through its skull. It had its gun raised. It was aiming directly at Hank. Time seemed to dialate as the sight alone sent a burst of adrenaline through his body, pumped with each beat of his heart. He could see straight down the barrel. Fear lanced through him in a single, all consuming wave, ice cold all through his body. Oh _fuck._

 

In the next instant, the RK900's body collided with his. It wrapped its arms around his frame, blocking out the sight of the android with itself. The force of the contact shoved Hank back against a shelf behind him.

He heard the gun go off. Four shots.

He _felt_ each one hit the body of the android in front of him. The wet, flesh-like sound the impacts made this close to his ears. Four hits.

Gavin fired his weapon, kept firing. Stopped and lowered it. "Fffuck." He hissed out, the curse strained, shaky.

Hank felt dizzy, his heart pounding too hard in his chest. Slowly, slowly, time seemed to return to normal, speeding up along with his frantic pulse.

The RK900 loosened its hold, stepping back from him. "Are you injured?" It demanded. Its hands moved from his shoulders as it noticed the blood on his front. Chris' blood. Not his. The RK900 seemed to realize that, but the android patted him down to confirm it anyways, parting his jacket and checking his sides, briskly palming him from his underarms to his hips. "Are you injured?" It repeated, demanding his confirmation.

"N-No." He stammered. He felt like a stiff breeze would knock him over, looking to the android in the center of the store. It was laying on its back, splatters of blue blood surrounding it where Gavin had gunned it down. "I'm fine."

At that, the RK900 seemed satisfied enough. It broke away from him, turning to face the fallen android. Hank's mouth fell open.

He could see the four bullet holes across its back, each of them oozing thirium, the fluid bleeding in trails down the perfect white of his overcoat.

"Fffucking hell, RK. You missed the guy's vitals or something?" Gavin groused, shooting his android partner a sharp glare.

"I did not miss." The RK900 returned. Its eyes were narrowed with that look of almost anger he had seen from it before. It approached the now likely _very_ dead android where it lay. "I have the blueprints for the WR600s on file. My shot was entirely accurate, and it should have disabled the deviant instantly."

That android did not look like a WR600. Hank had seen the stern faced looking gardener models himself. WR600s weren't that tall and didn't have arms like weightlifters.

The RK900 stopped, standing over the body of the deviant, frowning hard at its still body. Then, it bent over, reaching out with its hands to do something to the android's head. There was a loud click, then a painful sounding crunching noise as it lifted what looked like the front half of a skull up and off of the android's head, revealing the blue stained internal mechanisms within.

The RK900's eyes darted about, taking in what it was apparently seeing. "This android has received a large number of third party modifications to its body."

"Yeah, no shit. You didn't notice that?" Hank waved his hand at them both.

"All of the critical biocomponents in its skull case have been reoriented to prevent deactivation in case of head injury." The RK900 continued, its eyes narrowing even further. "Such as a bullet impact to the head. ...It's as if the modification was made as an adaptation against my own methods." The last words from it were quieter, as if the android hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Yeah, well, looks like it worked, huh?" Gavin shot back, coming over closer to the androids, "Looks like you--" He stopped in place, gaping at the android, apparently just then noticing how much the RK900 had been injured. He stammered once, throwing his head back to look Hank's way, "Great going, you got my robot shot to shit. Are you happy now?" He bodily pushed past him to approach the RK900. He hesitated before putting a hand on its shoulder. "Are you, uh, going to break down or something? You're leaking... everywhere."

At that, the RK900 seemed to finally take its attention away from the fallen android, tipping its head to look back at Gavin. "My injuries are non-critical. However, I will need to leave to return to a Cyberlife repair center. The repair process will take approximately six hours before I will be ready to return and continue working on the case."

Gavin made a bit of a face at that.

"Lieutenant Anderson." The RK900 looked back at him then, just as the door behind them burst open as other officers finally arrived on the scene. "The situation has been handled and I thank for your assistance in getting Officer Christopher Miller to safety. But now, you need to leave."

Hank held up his hands in surrender. "I'm going, I'm going. Jesus."

 

 

He still felt a bit shellshocked as he made his way back to the precinct after stopping for a fresh shirt at home. He'd called up the hospital Chris had arrived at and they confirmed he was being stabilized and his prognosis was good, which had him sagging in relief. Even then he was still only feeling like he'd stared death in the face several times that day. He'd never meant to be helping the RK900 and Gavin with their fucked up deviant hunting assignment, but it looked like that was exactly how things had turned out.

He shut his eyes at his desk, the image of the RK900 shielding him with its own body coming back to him unbidden. 

He got back to work.

Sure enough the traffic data he had asked for had been sent to the DPD's servers. He went ahead and transferred his recording from earlier that day onto the server with it, adding them both to his case files. Maybe he could actually make some progress on it... later, after he felt less like he was going to keel over from stress. Yeah, that sounded about right.

A few minutes later and Gavin was coming in through the door, some of his friends coming over to ask him about what had happened. The news of the big shootout had gotten around the precinct pretty fast and just about everyone was worried about Chris. Gavin managed to crack a few jokes about his experience, earning some uncomfortable laughs in return. 

Behind Gavin came the forensics group, an entire crowd carrying in the five downed androids all bagged up and tagged. The androids with strange faces. The androids that had been living among humans in their forgotten wreckage.

The androids Hank had helped kill.

"Yeah, I'm taking a long lunch," Gavin announced as he passed by Hank, heading straight back for the exit. "I'll be back."

Gavin was going out to lunch.

The RK900 wouldn't be back for another five hours.

Hank glanced to his desk, where he kept his key to the evidence lockers.

 

The forensics team was in and out in a quick and orderly manner, and Hank had been sure to count every one to make sure they had all left before he got up from his seat and headed down himself.

Past the plexiglass security prompt, he was greeted with the familiar panel controlling the evidence storage. He placed his hand on the scanner and typed in his password (now "bullshitpassword", since there had been security concerns after Connor had apparently guessed his old one) and there was a hydraulic hiss as the walls automatically rearranged themselves one by one to pull forward the evidence that was assigned to his profile.

Everything from the Jericho case was brought forward to him. The evidence pieces and the three androids involved still hung from the walls that soon lit up to properly display them. To that day he was surprised Cyberlife had left them anything at all instead of claiming everything and hiding it away in a vault somewhere. It was possible the three androids had simply been forgotten about in the wash of paperwork and ruined android bodies immediately following the death of the rebellion leader and the raid. 

On the farthest left there was the one PL600 that had practically started all of this, the first crime committed by an android that had gotten picked up by the mainstream press. It was only after Connor had been deactivated that he had looked into what had happened. The house android had panicked, afraid of being replaced and destroyed, and had lashed out. Connor had saved Matt Wilson, one of DPD's own, as well as the little girl the deviant was holding hostage. Though Connor had seemingly defused the situation, the SWAT team took the opportunity to take the shot and kill the deviant. It probably had nothing to do with the Jericho incident, but since the case was assigned to Connor and Connor had been assigned to him, the remains had been attached to his profile. If any of the androids would have been claimed by Cyberlife. he'd have figured they'd have wanted this one for how notorious it had been in the press.

Just to the right of the PL600 was Ortiz' android, the one that had killed himself in the middle of a cell. Even Hank had felt sorry for him at the time, up until the android had started stabbing the shit out of Ortiz it had been a clear case of self defense. If the HK400 had been human, a jury would have struggled to convict him for it. Gavin hadn't been nearly as sympathetic, however, and had pulled a gun on Connor when he had tried to intervene and calm the HK400 android. Hank had put a quick stop to that.

On the furthest to the right was another PL600, and after all this time Hank didn't know what to make of it. He had been one of Markus' accomplices, apparently left behind to fend for himself with a gun and some serious injuries. Until Connor had found him.

_"I... I felt it die."_  
_"Like I was dying."_  
_"I was scared."_  


In retrospect, he should have known what was happening starting at that very moment. As far as he was concerned, Connor had already become a deviant then and there, as if the PL600 had spread it to him in that brief contact.

Or Connor had felt empathy for the other android in that moment of desperation.

 

None of this was what he was here for, however. He scrolled through the system menu of the evidence locker and found the name he was looking for. _DET REED, GAVIN._ To his surprise, he wasn't immediately locked out of the system. As a lieutenant, he still had access to Reed's files. Kind of a big fucking oversight if Cyberlife wanted to keep him from snooping, if he did say so himself.

The walls grumbled and groaned as they tucked back inwards, a completely different set of walls moving inwards and displaying themselves for him. Unlike his own evidence collection, there were absolutely no siezed items or recordings on the walls. There were only bodies.

Hank stepped around the panel and approached the five gristly corpses.

There were holographic placards next to each body. Each one had an android model number, and a short list of observations. There was jargon in the descriptions he didn't really understand, and he wondered if this was what the RK900 wrote for the benefit of the Cyberlife agents that came to retrieve the bodies.

He looked at the huge android first. 

_Base model: WR600. Substantial skeletal frame modifications. Essential biocompotents rearranged to be more resilient via spreading previously clustered vital points. Manual facial structure modification. Subject survived bullet impact and minor mind palace damage._ (The hell was a 'mind palace'?) _Deactivated via accumulated damage across multiple biocomponent systems._

This close and in decent lighting, he could actually take in the features of the dead android's face under the ooze of blue blood running down its face. The blonde hair and the recognizable brow ridge and strong nose of the WR600 model line were still visible, but the features looked off. Like the cheeks, lips and jaw line had all been changed, thinner in places and plumper in others. When he knew what to look for, he could recognize it as a WR600's face, but if he hadn't known, he wouldn't have guessed it at all.

The deviants, it seemed, were adapting.

He checked through each of the other dead deviants. None of them were apparently as modified as the WR600 but they all were noted to have changed their facial structure. The blonde woman with an intact face was a WE900, a fairly modern model. Two of them were differing strains of AP700s, both changed enough that he wouldn't have recognized them in a crowd, and he'd seen a dozen of that particular model just driving around Detroit that day. Last was a WD400, hair lengthened beyond the sharp crew cut it was normally seen with, and scraggly stubble across its face that made it seem that much more human looking. 

Five dead androids. Why had Chris said six, then? Had he miscounted, or had an android somehow gotten away during the gunfight? He didn't know whether he was relieved or concerned at that idea. Whether he should be worried. The WR600, after all, had pretty clearly tried to kill him.

 

 

He didn't linger in the evidence room, he couldn't assume the Cyberlife undertakers would wait for RK900 to return to the precinct before they arrived to retrieve the remains. He was pushing his luck enough as it was. He put away Reed's locker and closed out of the system before he left. 

At 5 PM, he left the precinct to drive himself back home, the police radio in his car turned off. It was quiet except for the sounds of the engine and the other vehicles rolling past.

His house was quiet, the sounds of the television droning on as he had a few drinks and tried to relax, draped across his couch. Sumo laid at his feet, sleepy and at ease. Hank felt restless, his pulse speeding up every now and then as the gunfight came back to him. He'd been in a few dangerous situations before like that. He'd been shot and even had been brutally stabbed in a way that had put him out of commission for a long while. He was used to the aftershocks that came after shit like this by now, used to his body and mind's unwillingness to accept that it was safe again.

He'd get over it. Given enough time he'd be back to baseline. Back to his usual alcoholism and feeling like a waste of space. Back to himself.

His phone was buzzing where he had left it on his bed, the screen lighting up briefly as he undressed to get into some sleep clothes. He pulled a shirt over his head and reached out to check his notifications.

 _You've been tagged in a post by 707378687769! [4], [3], [2], [1]_ The stacked identical notifications unfolded into a list when he thumbed over them.

"You've got to be shitting me."

He tapped one of the notifications to pull up the page so he could block the account. In the comfort of his own home, he wasn't concerned about anyone else hearing the ridiculous club music as the video automatically began playing. The figure on the stage danced around the pole, a very limber, shapely man. The man turned his head to face towards the camera, and Hank saw a blurred blue LED on his temple. Videos of android pole dancers being sent to him by a pornbot, great.  
He pulled up the menu to block all contact from the account as the video zoomed in towards the dancer's upper body and face. His face was gentle, young looking. Round cheeks with a strong jaw. Big brown bambi eyes. The ridiculous cowlick of rebellious hair draped across one side of his forehead. Even in the low quality of the video he could see the moles and blemishes dotted about his face. The dancer smiled at the camera and winked.

Hank felt like his heart had stopped in his chest.

"...Connor...?"

 

Between the video and the tag cloud, there was a small text description.

_SCARLET_  
_1002 PARKER STREET_  
_48214 DETROIT, MI_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knock knock it's the plot.
> 
> Tags have been updated accordingly.
> 
> Yeah megachapter this time. I was tempted to split it into two parts but I wanted to get the whole thing out. Next chapter, a new investigation begins for Hank.


	4. INITIATING ORPHEUS PROTOCOL

Hank hadn't slept that night. He'd been in a flurry of researching and frantic pacing around his house, his heavy footfalls the only sound in the darkness of his house. _Pat-pat-pat_ across the linoleum of his kitchen, to the _thud-thud-thud_ as he walked over the wooden paneling of his living room. Sumo was sleeping, curled up across one of the carpets in his house, having grown tired of watching Hank as he moved around.

He was restless. He was anxious. He was out of his goddamned mind.

The first thing he'd done was pour over every single video on the pornbot account. There were 37 videos in total, and the android that looked like Connor (Was it Connor? _Was it Connor?_ It was an endless mantra in his head, underlaid beneath everything) was in each and every one. In about half of the videos he was the entire focus, a static camera recording him as he completed a dance routine. The videos often zoomed right in on his face, just in time for the android to look into the camera lens and make some sort of cutesy or erotic facial expression before the video ended. The videos were never over a minute long, just short clips of the android performing devoid of any other context. In the videos where Connor wasn't the focus, the shot would cut around, panning over other androids dancing around a pole or doing another performance on stage. Connor was still always included, sometimes in the middle or at the end.

The androids were always dressed, as far as one could call the black briefs and decorative tie and collar 'clothes', and although Hank would personally classify the content as 'not-safe-for-work' nothing more explicit was ever shown in them. There was also a noticeable lack of humans in the videos. During one of the pans in a single video there had been a possible human in the background, but going over it frame by frame, it seemed like the person's face had been thoroughly blurred to conceal their identity.

Every single video had the same description: the listed address. Nothing else, no flirty come-ons or anything trying to be evocative of a personality behind the account. 

The tag clouds were seemingly all machine generated, no perceivable pattern to them among the dozens and dozens of topics and account names thrown in. He had to squint his eyes and concentrate to the point of giving himself a headache just to spot his own username in the handful of posts he'd been tagged in.

With no more clues to be gleaned from the account itself, he instead moved onto the address in the posts, and that had been much more informative.

 

Scarlet was the name of the sex club located at that particular address. His searching had brought up photos of the establishment, a swanky looking building with sheer white stone face walls, decorated with cascading fountains and elegant synthetic plants. The centerpiece was the signage above the doorway, _Scarlet_ in red neon insets, designed to look like they'd been slashed into the surface of the building. 

On social media, for the sake of clarity it was referred to as 'Club Scarlet' on just about everything except the establishment's own page. And that page had certainly been something to read.

_Lose yourself in luxurious fantasy at Scarlet and enjoy an erotic experience without compare._  


_Each of our Cyberlife certified escorts is equipped with the most advanced and intimate protocols available. Each one is a unique individual, offering you an experience you can't find anywhere else. Our androids are attentive, dedicated and attuned to your wants and desires. Explore a variety of personality profiles as the androids get to know you and tailor themselves to best fit your delights._

He'd been expecting a page with a list of said androids and photographs of them, as was once common on escort pages for humans, but to his surprise there were only a few splash photos in the gallery of the same red plush interior he had seen in the videos and a few choice spreads of a handful of android escorts. No photos of Connor were featured on their website. There also weren't any prices listed, just statements that they offered 'private entertainment services for events' among other things, which in Hank's experience not listing them meant that the prices were probably outrageous. In fact the website overall was fairly barebones, since he'd been expecting a place that allowed one to browse and purchase from the comfort of one's own home.  
More answers came when he looked for another source of information about the club: online reviews.

**5/5 Stars. Review posted on 5/21/2038**  
_If The Eden Club is the fast food of android sex services, Club Scarlet is the fine dining experience. This club promises exclusive quality and atmosphere that you can't find anywhere else, and it delivers in spades. [...]_

**3/5 Stars. Review posted on 11/5/2037**  
_Just an FYI, this place DOES have a dress code and it IS enforced. The bouncer at the door threw my friend out for not fitting in with their standards. The club itself is alright but they are very particular about who they want renting their sexbots. [...]_

That certainly caught his attention, and after a search on 'Club Scarlet dress code' (which of course initially pointed him to the review he had just read) he pulled up a page of previous customers describing to an interested party what they were recommended to wear when first coming in. For men, dress shirts, suit jackets and dress pants. For women, either dresses or a nice blouse and dress pants. 'Casual Elegant' was the phrase he'd seen thrown around.

The entire thing was startlingly mundane. People treated it like any other venue, any other exclusive club people would go to to dance and get drunk and fuck in. As far as he could glean, the only reason there wasn't any more information on the website was because the club wanted to be exclusive, to travel entirely through word of mouth and to vet the people that got to enter it. The entire club was probably just another avenue for rich bastards to show off wealth and prestige in a world where those two things were becoming increasingly restricted to smaller and smaller amounts of people.

Had this been any other circumstance, Hank would have just discarded everything he had learned as just another example of how humanity was losing its touch with one another and how some people had too much time and money on their hands.  
But now, Hank had to figure out how a washed up fat old bastard like him was going to get into this Club Scarlet.

 

 

"Hey Jeffrey, it's me."

 _"Hank...?"_ The man sounded tired, like he'd caught him before he'd left for the precinct. _"It's seven in the morning, what the hell are you calling me for? What are you even doing up at this hour?"_

"I'm calling because I'm not going to be coming in today."

There was a _very_ unhappy pause, and he could picture the deep set frown on Fowler's face even across town. _"...You said you'd be coming in over the Christmas holidays this year."_

He found himself making an exhasperated face in turn, like he would be if he was sitting on the other side of the man's desk right then, "Yeah, I did say that, but it's the twenty third. It's not even Christmas Eve yet. It's Christmas Eve-Eve."

 _"Christmas Adam."_ Jeffrey supplied, earning a quick snort from Hank.

"I'm still coming in tomorrow and Christmas Day, alright? But I can't make it in today, something came up."

Jeffrey seemed to be thinking it over for a short while before he spoke up again, _"Is anything going on, Hank?"_ He sounded concerned, and it was admittedly not like him to call in like this, unless he was actually dead sick with a fever or food poisoning or something like that. Between the lines, Jeffrey was asking him if he was in trouble.

"No, I just--" He had no idea how he could possibly explain his situation, that his supposedly dead partner from two months ago had surfaced out of the blue in a high end android sex club and he needed the day to prepare and do his best to go find him. In a sense, yes, he definitely was in some sort of trouble. "Look, it's not something I want to talk about, alright? I'll be in tomorrow, I'll be full of Christmas spirit, I promise. I'll see you then."

_"...Okay Hank. I appreciate you letting me know. I'll see you tomorrow."_

 

 

Hank spent most of the morning and mid afternoon trying his best to get himself cleaned up. It was the first time he'd gone clothes shopping in two years, and it was a great way of reminding himself that he'd gone up in a size or two since then. He looked pretty fucking miserable in the dressing rooms, putting on different dress shirts and trying to find one that didn't make him look ridiculous or like an obvious plant.

He'd done undercover work quite a few times back when he worked on DPD's Red Ice unit. It had been a bit of a specialty of his, cozying up to people, earning their trust, getting the information he needed in a peaceful manner without anyone pointing a gun at anyone else. A lot of it had been genuine, too, he still had a few informants out in the city that he had kept in touch with for years. (Back then when he still had a certain charm and charisma to him and the idea of getting close to someone emotionally didn't make him want to crawl out of his own skin.) Prepping for Club Scarlet really wasn't any different when he looked at it that way.

"What says 'I'm monied enough and insecure enough to show up at an exclusive android sex club'?" He asked himself, holding up two shirts in front of the mirror. Neither. Absolutely nothing about him said that. He looked like a bum that jerked off in the parking lot outside a burger drive in. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, over the prickles of his beard and mustache he'd put effort into trimming back before he'd left the house. He'd even cleaned up and tied back his hair in a loose ponytail away from his face instead of letting it hang like two tent flaps framing his aging face.

Eventually he settled on a black dress shirt with neutral gray pants, a gold tie resting across his chest. It brought out the whiter hairs that were starting to grow in his locks, made him look even older. He examined himself in the mirror, the way his beer gut fought with the presence of his belt.

"This is probably as good as it's going to get." He concluded, dryly.

 

 

Scarlet was, as expected, located in the high end part of town. The Detroit Riverfront was a sprawling metropolis, high rise apartments, rows and rows of shopping centers. Corporate headquarters had fought to get property there following the android industrial boom, logos and parking garages seemingly everywhere he looked. Traffic slowed to a crawl as the automated cars calculated whose turn it was to get on the street, countless people coming to and fro to their place of work, or leaving for an early lunch. Hank himself rarely came to this part of town. It was too rich for his blood, he really only came to the area when work demanded it. There were no signs banning androids to be seen, and in fact every single human on the streets was accompanied by an android companion, glowing blue insignias following in step to the humans shuffling along in heavy coats. Across the Detroit River, looming tall over everything else, was Cyberlife Tower. Scarlet was practically in its footprint, the open water of the river visible a few streets down from the club

The building looked different in the daylight and the snow than in the glowing nighttime photos he'd seen. There were cars parked off in the lot around it, swanky looking smart cars and even a stretch limo pulled up close to the building. He found himself wishing he'd had the sense to rent a taxi, his beat up old car drew too much attention to him, and didn't help his 'image'. Too late now. 

He sat in the car for a long while after he had parked, steadying his breathing. _Confidence_ , he told himself. The biggest part of playing a role was committing to it.

If Connor was really in here, he needed to get himself through the door first. He had to pretend he was some rich douchebag. Some fucking creeper willing to pay big money to get some poor android to touch his dick. Strangely, the first person he thought of emulating was Elijah Kamski himself, which had him laughing dumbly in the front seat of his car. Yeah, no way of him pulling off that level of pretentiousness and self aggrandizing.

 _And sociopathy,_ Some part of him added, still bitter.

Eventually he pulled out of the car and out into the cold air, tucking his hands into his pockets as he drew on his best swagger. He passed under the stylized red neon inset sign and into the doorway. Just as he expected, there were two bouncers past the threshold of the first glass doors, the two men in heavy coats to fend off the chilly air that kept blowing in. Both of the bouncers were human, surprisingly, broad shouldered and broad knuckled, heads shaved neatly to make cueballs out of them both. They were wearing different colored suit jackets but they both had matching red ties, a bloody looking color that was close in tint to the sign of the club. He understood why they were human as he felt the two of them look him over, sizing him up. Androids, he had come to learn, were programmed to be objective about things when making judgements. Humans, on the other hand, were pretty good on making judgements based on gut feelings and biases, such as turning someone away if they didn't "fit" a scene.

A few seconds ticked by as the three men in the entryway regarded one another. The only sound in the dead air was the thrumming of muffled music from the doorway behind them.

Hank relaxed his shoulders, tipped his head back. _Confidence. Lay on the old fashioned Anderson charm._ "How's the afternoon been treating you, boys?"

He saw a crack of a reflexive smile across one of the bouncer's faces. The man closest to him, in a slick white suit, stepped forward. "Can't complain, sir. If you don't mind, as official policy I'll need to scan you for wires or surveillance equipment." The main raised a paddle-like hand scanner.

Shit, that sounded like they were going to let him in. He felt a swell of relief and hope in his chest he forced himself to chew back down. He wasn't through the doors just yet. He reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone, setting it aside on the counter beside them before he stood out with his arms extended at his sides. "That's some pretty serious security detailing." He tried to make the statement sound awed and interested rather than threatened, and the bouncer's canned grin remained unchanging.

"We pride ourselves on privacy and discretion here, sir." The man offered him as an explanation as he passed the scanner over Hank's limbs and confirmed he wasn't wearing anything suspect.

"I do enjoy partaking in some privacy and discretion," He quipped, not angling for a laugh but keeping up the casual air. 

The bouncer backed off, satisfied, allowing him to retrieve his phone. "You've come to the right place. Enjoy your time at Scarlet." The two of them stepped marginally aside, clearing the second set of doors for him to pass by. He met their gazes and mugged for another smile as he went, and as soon as the doors opened for him he could feel the familiar, high energy pounding of the same music he'd heard in the background of the videos.

He'd been hoping for a chance to catch his breath and relax once he was inside, but instead he was standing there, eyes wide, taking everything in. The videos had only shown him slices of the expansive open floor, and now that he was in, he found it was much larger than he'd been expecting. The area was dotted with stages and poles that androids were attending in waves of constant, rhythmic movement. It was skin on display, muscles, limbs and bare torsos out, accented by the flashes of black and white fabric and red ties. The androids stood out against the backdrop of deep red that bled up from the carpet and plush seating, panning overhead lights rolling over them in dizzying movements. When he could pry his gaze away from the dancers, he could spot the booths that surrounded the open floor, several of them already filled by single individuals or small parties. He could see an android kneeling on one of the booth tables, taking on a much more intimate, sensuous dance in front of a patron. At another tabled area, two female models kissed one another for an onlooking party.

Hank felt his stomach start to turn already. He turned his attention back to the androids working the poles. He was looking for a male, pale skinned, dark hair, medium build, he reminded himself. He scanned the various stages, his heart thrumming too fast and anxious along the beat of the music. There was a long bar near one end of the building, bottles lit from behind with pink toned neon blanketing the wall behind the bar. Bartender was an android, mostly dressed in formal wear and a red tie, which was likely part of the uniform of the club now that he'd seen it on everyone.

He passed from one end of the club to the other. The androids there were majority female modeled, but like in the Eden Club there were a significant selection of male models. Some were heavyweights, buff like gym rats, others looked more like Connor in the video had, slimmer, swimmer's bodies. Hank tried not to focus on them for too long, just searching. Just looking them over. Even back in the Eden Club ogling the androids had felt intrusive to him, like he was being impolite. Now that he knew what he did about androids, the idea of staring at them for too long, much less treating them how the other patrons were, made him feel sick more than it made him feel hot under the collar.

It was an odd variety of models in the club. He'd been expecting there to just be the male and female Traci's, but instead he recognized a lot of domestic companion models, like an AX400 or 700, and even an HK400. They looked like they had been dolled up to look more sexual in places, shimmering eyeshadow and rouge flushes on cheeks. There wasn't a single duplicate face among the three dozen androids he'd examined. 

But he wasn't finding Connor anywhere on the stages. He made himself check the booths, trying to stalk around the open floor area as subtly as he could, looking at each individual android that had been pulled away for something more private. No Connor among them.

This was the right address. This was the place he'd seen in the videos. So where was he?

His gaze fell upon a glowing neon sign hanging on the back wall. _PRIVATE ROOMS_.

He already didn't like where this was taking him.

 

The sign led him to another small lobby, and three fourths of the walls in the narrow room were lined with narrow pyramid protrusions sticking out from the surfaces. He recognized them vaguely as acoustic absorbers, and as he passed them the club music seemed to all but fade away, leaving a more pleasant but claustrophobic quiet in its wake. There was a man at a desk in front of the door to the rooms further beyond, a human in a white dress shirt and black dress pants, leaning back in his seat and flicking idly over a tablet in his hands. He caught sight of Hank in his peripherals and all but flailed back into a proper, upright sit. "Good afternoon, my gentleman." The lobbyman was young, ginger and freckled, he was almost too dumb looking (and dumb acting, with that greeting) to fit quite in with the rest of the club. The bright red tie sitting on his chest washed out the color in his face and hair. "My name is Jacoby. Can I help you with anything today?"

Hank smiled around a grimace, showing a lot of teeth with the gesture. "Yeah, uh, I got a question for you." He came over closer, leaning over and bracing a forearm over the top of the desk in front of him. "I happened to hear from a friend of mine that you had here at your establishment, an RK800. Is that true?"

The kid's face went through a gamut of microexpressions. After spending so much time lately with stiff faced androids, the human was an open book to read in comparison. He furrowed his brow in apparent thought, eyes darting to look down at his tablet, closing whatever bullshit he'd been doing and pulling something else up. Ah, his eyes lit up, he'd found what he was looking for. Then a look of realization and recognition. "Oh yeah. Yeah, we do."

 _Fuck._ Oh god, this was all real, then. This was actually happening. He tried not to buckle in place, but he had no doubt the smile on his face was folding hard. He pressed onward, quickly. "Can you tell me where it came from?"

He realized he'd asked the wrong thing in an instant as Jacoby's brow pinched together in a clear look of confusion and then suspicion. Who the fuck came to a sex club and asked something like that? The kid pulled through something else on his tablet, his gaze rapidly flipping between it and Hank.

"You're Hank Anderson, you're with Detroit Police, aren't you?" A cop. A cop asked that kind of question. Shit, the kid must have pulled up a security camera and flagged him with a facial recognition sweep or something. He opened his mouth to give a reply and the young man cut him off, "If this is in regards to a criminal case, I can't answer any of your questions. I'll need to refer you to Scarlet's legal team."

He was quick to hold up his hands in surrender. "No, no. This has nothing to do with a criminal case. I'm here on... personal business." Despite that actually being the truth, Jacoby kept frowning at him, very clearly not buying it. And yeah, his actions were suspicious as shit. If he wanted to get anything out of the kid, he needed to give him something, some reason to believe he wasn't trying to get the club in legal trouble. 

He took in a breath, and did his best to channel his inner scumbag, drawing it over him like a shroud. He loosened up, he crossed one ankle over the other and he flashed Jacoby a smirk. "It's just- Cyberlife came down to our precinct a few months back and started flashing us photos of this high tech prototype detective android, you know? I took one look at it," He gathered up the absolute most disgusting old man inside of him he could for his next line, "And I thought, what a _waste_ to be using a face like that on a plastic cop, you know?"

The kid's eyebrow shot straight up towards his hairline at that. Despite the surprised look, he did see some of the tension ebb from him.

"What can I say, I have a type. I'd been wanting to get my hands on that one for a while now." The kid slackened even further at the confession. "That's why I was so surprised to hear about it from a work buddy of mine. Said he saw a sexbot with that same face and here I thought they were exclusive to just the detective model. So I'm wondering if that changed, if Cyberlife has started selling, you know, _intimate_ androids with that facial sculpt."

Jacoby cracked a little, grinning crookedly at him. "Oh no, that face is still exclusive to the RK800 and RK900 lines. The android here is a genuine RK800."

He put on a face of exaggerated surprise. "No kidding? So Cyberlife put it out for retail?"

"Uh..." The kid faltered, looking back at his tablet again. He gave a sideways glance at him like he thought he shouldn't be telling Hank what he was about to say. "Nah, I'm afraid not. A while back Cyberlife was apparently liquidating a bunch of old stock they had. We're pretty close to them, you know, not just physically, so we were able to get the unit and a backstock of replacement parts off of them. So," He gestured towards the back rooms behind him. "That's how we got our RK800. As far as I know nothing in the line was never, uh, for retail sale. Sorry if you were hoping."

"Damn." He playfully swung his fist in the air in a dejected motion. That was laying it on a little too thick, he dragged himself back in, putting on a more thoughtful look. "In that case..."

"I'm guessing you'd like to rent the RK800." Jacoby surmised, before he could say it himself. He felt his pulse run colder with the words just hanging in between them like that.

"...Yeah." It came out of him too weak and breathy. He gulped down another draught of air and hunched up his shoulders. "Yeah, I would." He repeated himself, pulling the smile back onto his face the best that he could.

"Gotcha. Just give me a second." He leaned forward, dipping his head towards a small microphone on the desk. "Dollface, you're up."

Hank blinked, furrowing his brow. "'Dollface'...?" He echoed.

"Every android unit here has a unique identifier." Jacoby explained, giving him a wry little look. "I think Dollface suits it fine, don't you? But you can call it whatever you want." He had reached for a tablet behind the desk, holding it out for Hank to take. "Here. You can select your _service_ options and handle the payment information through this. Go ahead and pick out a room, it'll meet you when you're ready. Oh, and uh, be sure to read through the terms of service."

 

At first glance the tablet seemed based off of a restaurant menu, _RK800 "DOLLFACE"_ listed at the very top of the screen. Below it, he was immediately greeted with a selection of... options. 

He was prompted to enter a name for the android to answer to and a name for the android to call him, and he hesitated as he thought it over. Obviously he was going to be calling him 'Connor', he'd rather be struck dead than call him 'Dollface'. But the second space had him considering. The most natural way for the android to address him was just 'Hank', he supposed, so he typed that in to the tablet's keyboard.

 _SCENE TYPE: Vanilla, Spicy, Advanced [...]_ Each option was illustrated with silhouettes of human figures, the _Vanilla_ option being two individuals kissing, _Spicy_ having one of them in handcuffs, and _Advanced_ having one of the figures holding a knife. He had no qualms about selecting the _Vanilla_ option.

 _PERSONALITY: Sweet, Sour, Savory._ He didn't know what the hell that was even supposed to mean as far as personalities went, but _Sweet_ had a smiling face for its illustration so he went with that.

 _TEMPERMENT: Dominant, Submissive, Switch It Up!_ Oh Jesus. For his own sanity he set it to the versatile option, hoping it would be the most... neutral.

Another line of options had pictures of clothes, like the cutouts you'd place over a paper doll in a dress up game. Most of them were... very skimpy, fishnet stockings, thongs, and lace among them. Cat and dog ears too. He kept scrolling through the line until he mercifully found a simple dress shirt and pants, like Jacoby had been wearing. 

There were a few additional options, some with [...] buttons that seemed like they would lead to additional menus. He had absolutely no desire for Connor to show up with a box of vibrators however, so he scrolled past them.

Then came the terms of service. Much of it was the typical legalese he'd been glazing over for nearly his entire life, stuff he never really read unless he was specifically suspecting something foul from the company shoving it in his face. This time, he looked it over. There was a section that broke from the regular TOS fare, something that was written more like a PSA. 

_CLUB PROFILES: Scarlet owned androids will create and modify patron profiles using proprietary Cyberlife software. This information will contain sexual position and behavior preferences generated based on evaluations of patron interaction. The information can be accessed by any Scarlet owned android and may be shared with patron owned android units on request. Scarlet does not record private information in patron profiles. Profiles can be deleted at any time upon emailed request to Scarlet customer service._

Hank accepted the terms of service and he was presented with his bill.

 _$120 for a half hour rental._ The tablet told him at the very end. Effectively four times the cost of what the Eden Club had billed the DPD per android during that absurd investigation. He grimaced a little, but entered his credit information and confirmed for half an hour's rental. The menu cleared, showing an animated version of the club's logo on a splash screen. He set it in his lap, waiting in a small chair tucked against the wall of the room he'd selected. The private room had a bed in the center of it (deep red, predictably) which was more like a plush surface to fuck on than an actual bed. He'd seen rooms with full length mirrors on the walls and had instead opted for just a smaller, simpler room since it wasn't like he was going to be actually using it. He could adjust the light level of the room with a switch, brighten it or dim it as much as he wanted, eventually settling on turning down the lights a little so all the red didn't hurt his eyes as much. 

The feeling of mortification was growing as time ticked on. Especially with him having said the shit he had to Jacoby after being identified as a cop. Even if it was technically legal, it was frowned upon for a police officer to be here, much less a lieutenant. Someone could use this to try and blackmail him, even. 

 

Ultimately, he told himself, none of that mattered. He was just here to find Connor.

 

There came a knock on the door to his room. _"Hank?"_

Fuck.

That was _his_ voice. That was Connor. _Lieutenant Hank Anderson,_ he could remember, countless times in his head, in that same voice.

"Yeah. Come in." He managed to raise his voice as he dragged himself out of the chair, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to see.

He couldn't have. Even seeing the videos hadn't prepared him for it. 

He had no idea what they had done to him, but Connor looked... different somehow. Maybe he was imagining things but compared to the face that had been lingering in his memory for so long, he could spot so many differences. He'd always been a pretty boy type, seemingly meant to be handsome but rounded at the edges, carefully marked with the picturesque moles on his cheeks and brow. Now he looked... radiant. His skin looked softer, eyes brighter. The delicate eyelashes framing those brown eyes might have been extended to look longer, bringing more attention to them. It was as if they had discarded almost all the vulnerabilities, all the imperfections in his face to make him look as beautiful as they could.

Despite his attempt at trying to protect Connor's modesty with his choice of clothes, the dress shirt and pants clung to his frame, highlighting the rise and curve of his pectorals, the dip in towards his belly from toned abdominals. The sleeves of the dress shirt were almost artfully rolled up to reveal his pale, hairless forearms. He'd never seen that much skin on him, not with that jacket uniform he'd always worn.

Hank admittedly had wondered, back when they were working together, whether or not Cyberlife had given him genitals. (He had been curious. He'd wanted to know more about Connor.) With the way his pants hung on him, there was no questioning that he had something _now_.

"...Connor." He breathed out. He didn't know what to do. Part of him had been unable to believe that Connor was still out there somewhere, alive. Part of him was still struggling to believe it.

Connor met his gaze and _smiled._ It was a wide, almost toothy grin, the likes of which he'd never seen on him before, nothing like the tiny upward curves of his lips he'd held in his memory. "Hello, Hank." He greeted him, matter of fact, in that same over enunciated tone he'd always used. That weird voice he'd made fun of him for.

"Oh my god. Connor." He was crossing the room over to him then, couldn't stop himself, putting his hands on his shoulders. "Oh my god." Connor was warm under his touch, the thin fabric of the shirt doing nothing to stop the heat radiating from his synthetic skin. This was real. This was really happening. "Are you- Are you alright?" He had to ask, because Connor was in an android sex club with him right now. Because everyone had said that he'd been taken apart. Because it had been months since he'd last seen him. Because of everything.

"I am great, thank you." Connor stepped forward into his space with another overly wide smile, and Hank felt him reach around him, curling his arms around Hank's back. The embrace pulled them closer until their chests were almost touching. The gesture was as abrupt and as jarring as his reply was. Just as wrong.

He stiffened up in his hold, opening his mouth to say something. A protest. _Wait, hold on, what's going on?_

Connor closed his eyes, tilted his head, and craned upwards to press their lips together.

 

 

This too, he had thought about. He wasn't proud of it. He'd spent time alone in the darkness of his empty home contemplating the what ifs between him and a man he'd thought dead. An android. His friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this one was originally going to be another megachapter since I liked having one 24 hour period per chapter, but for a few reasons this day's events will be spread out over two chapters.
> 
> You might be wondering why I didn't just use the Eden Club as the sex club. Well, the initial reason is that I thought the Eden Club didn't allow the androids there to leave the club and that restriction didn't fit the ideas I had in mind. But upon looking deeper into North's backstory, Eden Club androids can in fact go home with patrons, apparently. So the real reason is that I just wanted the freedom to make up a club to fit what I wanted for the plot.
> 
> Next chapter, Hank tries to figure out what the fuck is going on.


	5. RETURN LAST USED STRING

Connor kissed him like he knew exactly what he was doing, from the artful tilt of his head to get in as close as he could to the way his lips were parted to make it warm and easy. Connor kissed like it was the kiss at the closing shot of a romance film, the two leads in each other's arms as the screen cut to black and the credits rolled on that high note.

 

It felt like his legs were going to give out from underneath him, getting kissed like that.

 

Hank shoved him away, his two open hands connecting firmly with the flat of the android's chest. He sent Connor stumbling a few steps back with the force of it. Connor didn't even looked shocked at the shove, even if his LED blotted red and yellow for a split second. Instead he gave him that look of distinctly android disapproval. Not angry or offended or even apologetic, just 'Oh no, someone is unhappy with something I did', lips turned into a subtle frown, brows lowered but not creased. He had his hands vaguely raised up in an attempt at appeasement. 

"What--" The first word out of him was a sputter, a weak, pathetic sound. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" He could still feel the kiss on him. It was like an electric current, running up and down his body, tingling in his extremities and rolling across his chest in waves. Holy shit. _Holy shit._

"I apologize, Hank. I made an assumption based on your body language that you would like to be held and kissed right then." Connor's voice was soothing, not worried or disappointed. Diplomatic. "I didn't mean to overstep. I am here for your enjoyment, after all."

"Yeah, well. You did. You overstepped." He'd wanted that to come out more deadpan instead of how it actually did, with him gaping at him like a fish out of water.

"Tell me how you would like me, then." Connor switched almost instantly to another smile, one less toothy, but wide enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes. Before Hank could intercept him, Connor raised a hand and ran it down his upper arm, stroking the length of it down to his elbow.

He jerked back as if Connor had punched him, beating a retreat until he felt the back of one leg bump against the chair he'd been sitting in. "Okay, first of all: don't touch me." He began, raising a hand in between them. An admittedly feeble barrier.

"--Until you tell me otherwise?" Connor finished for him. There was a disgustingly playful inflection in his tone that, worst of all, wasn't even unfamiliar coming from Connor.

"Yeah. You got it. Exactly."

"If that is your preference, might I suggest changing my Temperament settings to 'Submissive'?"

Jesus Christ, way to make him feel even more disgusting than he already did. "If it'll keep you from touching me, go right ahead." He shot back with an accusing scowl.

He watched Connor's LED flicker from yellow back to blue. "Do whatever you want to me, Hank." There was a visible change in demeanor accompanying that line. His eyes were half lidded, his posture a bit more slack and relaxed. Yeah, Hank was certainly feeling pretty fucking disgusting right then.

"Okay, uh. How about you just... sit down. On the bed." He gestured at the red cushions, raising both arms up as a way to herd Connor towards it. Without questioning or even hesitating, Connor moved to do so. He settled on the edge of it, his legs splayed apart and his back arched, arms braced behind him. The angle showed off the pale column of Connor's throat, which he had never seen much of with that dopey looking jacket collar in the way. At least with Connor sitting down and staying in one place he felt a little more in control of the freakish situation. Connor was watching him, looking at him expectantly. With his legs spread, Hank was able to feel the most absurd sense of gratitude he'd ever felt in his life at the realization that the android at least wasn't popping a boner in the midst of all of this.

He took in a deep, long breath. Released it. Covered his face in his hands. 

 

Another deep breath. 

Connor continued to smile up at him from his seat on the bed.

"...Do you know who I am?"

Connor's smile flickered a little wider. "Of course I do. You're Hank."

He wanted to feel some sort of hope or relief with that answer. But there was no change in Connor's face beyond that smile, that placid 'sultry' look. "So you recognize me. We've met before, right?"

Connor's pleasant expression faltered. There was that disapproving look on his face again. 'Oh no'. The LED went fully yellow for one rotation before turning blue again. "According to your profile, you were first registered to Scarlet today, approximately ten minutes ago. I'm afraid if you had an earlier profile, it's been removed and I can no longer access it." His smile returned, demeanor flipping back to being flirty and playful with barely a transition. "I apologize if that causes any inconvience, but it does give us a chance to be reacquainted with one another again!"

It felt like his blood was running cold in his veins, a distinct, clamoring chill filling his body. "You don't remember ever having seen me before?" He insisted.

"As per club policy, to maintain patron privacy all Scarlet own androids receive system wide memory wipes every twenty four hours." Whatever feeling was in his chest went worse. He tasted something sour in his mouth. "Thus, sadly, if your profile was deleted more than 24 hours ago, I have no memory of your patronage. If you'd like, you can describe how things used to go between us and I can update your profile accordingly."

"Connor, you were my _partner._ " The words came out of him in a desperate rush. His face twitched, pinching into some ugly grimace that had him rubbing a hand over his face again. Connor looked puzzled at the words, tilting his head as if waiting for further explanation. "Listen to me. On November fifth of this year, you were assigned to me as my partner in the Detroit Police Department. You were acting as a detective investigating cases related to androids. Do you or do you not remember that?"

The puzzlement Connor was showing intensified even further, and he scrutinized Hank as if he were babbling very incoherently and very loudly to him. "That seems unlikely, as according to my system logs I've only been active starting November twenty-second."

_No._

_He didn't remember._

Something was slipping out of Hank's fingers, and he clenched them into fists as if he could keep a hold on it longer that way. "What's your serial number?" He switched directions, coming at Connor from another angle. "It's 313 248 317 dash 51, right?"

The android's oversized eyelashes batted a few times in a theatrically overexaggerated blink. "No. My serial number is 786 577 690." He tilted his head to the other side, demure and coquettish even as he talked Hank down, his LED showing that he was looking something else up. "That serial number isn't attached to any currently registered android either. Are you sure it's the right one?"

He repeated the number in his head just to make sure. Repeated it again until he started to doubt himself, the numbers losing their meaning into nonsense. Would Cyberlife have wiped Connor off their records? Would they have given him a new serial number after disposing of him in a place like this?

"What's the last thing you remember?" He asked instead, "What's the earliest memory you have?"

Connor's expression flipped again. It was the same expression he'd seen on Jacoby just a few minutes earlier, the whole 'something's fishy here' frown. Suspicion tugging at his lips. "Are you inquiring about a criminal case, Hank? If so, I'm afraid I don't have the authority to answer and I will have to refer you to Scarlet's legal team." The exact same fucking script.

His frustration reached a boiling point. "No, god damn it!" He couldn't help it, snapping back at the android. "It's not for a criminal case!"

Connor didn't even flinch as Hank raised his voice. He went back to smiling pleasantly, legs still spread, body out on offer to him. Like with Samantha, Hank felt an immediate pang of regret. There he was, yelling in Connor's face again. And just as he had before, Connor just took it without complaint or resistance. He turned away from him, slumping back down into the seat across the room. He rubbed his face over his hands again, trying to wipe the feeling of tired from his eyes.

"It's been ten minutes since your session started, meaning there's twenty minutes remaining." Connor spoke up after a period of silence between them, matter of fact and still unconcerned with his outburst. "If you like, I could--"

"I'm going to stop you there and tell you the answer is no, I would not like it."

Connor closed his mouth obediently. He continued to smile at him, though he looked a little less enthused. Maybe Hank was imagining it. He was an android, after all. It wasn't like he was doing this shit to earn tips.

"You guys got a drink menu here or something? Because I could really use a drink right now." 

At that, Connor definitely _did_ perk up. "Oh, of course. Would you please allow me to use the tablet, Hank?" The android sat upright for the first time, and Hank got the feeling he was going to bolt across the room as soon as he allowed it.

"Yeah, sure." He held out the tablet as far as he could in front of himself and sure enough Connor sprung up from the bed and crossed the space in order to take it from him. He did something with the device Hank couldn't really perceive, some lightning fast android interfacing that had his LED yellow and blinking rapidly, and then he offered it back to Hank. True enough to Hank's orders, the android made no move to touch him in the process, which was a relief.

"Thanks," He grumbled. The tablet screen had been switched over to an actual menu rather than the cutesy android order screen it had been before. And-- "Yeah, forget the drinks, that's not happening." Just what he was expecting from a place like this: tiny shitty drinks at absurd prices meant to scalp whatever dumb bastards that wanted to get drunk here. He shoved the tablet back into Connor's chest, who at least had the grace to take hold of it again before it was dropped. 

Connor stood in place, still awaiting another order from him, holding the tablet in his hands in front of him. "Would you like me to bring you to orgasm with my mouth, Hank?" He asked, as soon as Hank made eye contact with him.

He couldn't choke down the physical feeling of revulsion, his throat clenching tight. "Just... sit back down on the bed." He waited for Connor to follow the order before he continued. "I'm going to tell you what you are going to do. You're going to sit right there, and you and I are going to have a conversation. We're just going to talk, that's it. Nothing else. Got it?"

"Of course, Hank. Whatever you like."

 

What followed had to be the most frustrating conversation of his entire life. Connor didn't remember him. No matter how much he insisted that Connor had been his partner, the android just continued to look confused at him and shoot down every little thing he'd said. And none of it was adding up. Connor claimed he'd been activated on November 22nd, not August 15th. Connor said he had a different serial number, not even one that matched the format like the RK900 seemed to have. Connor assured him he couldn't have been an android detective because all he was programmed with was information on sexually pleasuring humans, and he knew nothing about law or police procedure.

Connor told him that every 24 hour period, his memory was wiped. Hank believed that much, at the least.

All the while the android attempted to turn the conversation back towards sexual gratification. Hank's sexual gratification specifically.

"You can change your scene type at any time if you'd like a change of pace." Connor had reminded him, sounding like a tooltip in a goddamn word processor program.

"There are ten minutes remaining in your session. There are a variety of fast paced options available I can utilize for your pleasure. Would you like me to list them?"

The worst part of all of this was the way the android talked. Everything about how he talked was still very much like Connor, all stilted and overly enunciated and clinical in all the weirdest places, which was fucking ridiculous. Why the hell would a sex club deliberately program one of their escorts to talk like it was a machine trying to come to grips with interacting with human beings?

Hank didn't know what to think. He looked like Connor. He sounded and talked just like Connor. But he acted like an entirely different person. And he had to wonder, what would Connor act like if he lost all of his memories? If he couldn't remember anything he'd learned about deviants, or the DPD or Hank himself. If someone loaded Connor up with a bunch of sex tutorials and ordered him to go work, was this how he would act?

 

Eventually Connor spoke up again. "I'm afraid that we are reaching the end of your session, Hank. Would you like to authorize a payment and extend your session another thirty minutes?"

By that time he was sprawled in his seat, legs thrust out across the floor, chin sinking into the collar of his shirt. Truth be told, he was... tired. He hadn't slept for more than thirty hours now, and he'd just been in a shoot out. He was fucking tired.  
If he had been hoping for a miracle, like he was going to get to talk to Connor again and the two of them would leave this place together, this wasn't it. If this android was Connor, he wasn't getting through to him. Nothing he was saying was reaching him.

He wasn't angry at the android for it, either. Couldn't with that face beaming at him the entire time even if there wasn't any meaning behind the smile beyond fucked up programming.

He was just tired.

"...If I may make a suggestion, Hank." He had half a mind to cut the android off. He wasn't really in the mood to hear any more of his 'suggestions'. But when he looked up at Connor, there was something else in his smile. It was fainter, an upward curve to his eyebrows, making it look softer, sadder. Something like sympathy, maybe. "You seem to be very undecided with what you want out of your session. Perhaps you should come to a decision on what you want first and then we can continue where we left off at a later time."

He was surprised, hearing that from him. Maybe he was right. Hank needed time to regroup. He needed to research more and come up with a plan. What could he do otherwise? He didn't want to just leave Connor there but what were his alternatives? Grabbing him by the hand and running out the building with him while hoping they wouldn't get taken down by security? Connor was legally owned. In the eyes of the law, Hank would be _stealing_ him.

If Connor had shown him even the faintest of recognition, he would have done that in a heartbeat. But he hadn't. He needed to figure this all out first. "Yeah. I'll do that."

"So you would like to end our current session?" Connor tilted his head at him, apparently looking for direct confirmation.

He nodded and all at once Connor's expression changed. He could see him dropping the personality programming as clearly as if he had physically shed it like it was a stuffy overcoat. The dreamy look on his face, the lascivious body language, all gone. He rose up stiffly from the bed and crossed the room to retrieve the tablet from where Hank had set it aside. Quick, orderly and efficient.

For a split second, Hank actually felt a glimmer of hope in his chest. Was this it?

Then Connor spoke again, looking over him with an entirely neutral expression.

"Thank you for your patronage, Hank. I hope you enjoy the rest of your time at Scarlet."

He turned away from him and walked out the door without even a single look back.

 

There was a buzz on his phone, and when he pulled it up he half expected there to be a new notification from the pornbot, tagging him in yet another video post of Connor dancing. Instead, he'd gotten a text from Jeffrey.

 _Hank, Chris is awake at the hospital, called to let me know his recovery is going good. He'd like it if you dropped by to see him if you have the time today. -Jeffrey_

Hank checked the clock on his phone. 5:53 PM. The Detroit Medical Center Receiving Hospital ended visiting hours at eight. He had time to visit. Did he feel up for it? 

After what had happened the day before, he felt like he owed it to Chris to drop by and at least see how he was doing. He crossed the parking lot, tucking his chin into his overcoat as snow choked gusts battered into him. The sky had turned a deep gray while he'd been inside, and the blanket of white across the parking lot meant traffic would be slow going. There were already teams of androids across the street from the club, shoveling out the sidewalks square by square. He gave one last glance at the club behind him, the red _Scarlet_ on the building face standing out against the gray sky and the snowflakes falling through the air. He sighed, a trail of water vapor from his lips dissolving into the freezing wind. He climbed into his car and headed out.

 

He'd been in and out of the DMC Receiving for what felt like most of his life. The white and red building had remained mostly the same since the 1990's, still as big and bulky and kind of ugly looking as it always been even as the technology inside it marched forward. He'd gotten himself patched up multiple times here, mostly for traumatic injuries sustained on the job. He'd also gone for more visits than he could count for other officers injured in the line of duty. It was completely routine, stopping by the check in area, asking for Chris' room number and getting his visitor's badge, the holographic display resting on his breast as he climbed into one of the elevators.

Chris wasn't in intensive care anymore, so that was a good sign. He'd gotten his own room in one of the hospital wings to recover in before he'd be released back home, according to the android secretary.

He focused most of his thoughts on Chris, instead of the feelings that walking down the hospital halls full of android medical staff brought back to him.

The man had apparently already gotten some visitors by the time Hank knocked on his door and stepped inside. On the end table next to his bed, someone had set up a tiny Christmas tree, colorful LED lights strung around it blinking on and off at random. Hank could spot what looked like handmade ornaments, strung beads on wire in the shapes of candy canes and paper cutouts of stars with photos in the center of what looked like Chris' family members. There was a large display of rose lilies on the counter on the other side of the room, their white edges deepening into a heavy, vibrant pink in the center. They were held in a milky glass vase, a small card left beside it.

"Hey Chris," He greeted the man as he stepped inside, giving him a wave.

Chris looked remarkably put together for someone who had gotten shot twice in the chest the day before. There was a lot of color in his face and he looked alert and aware. He was sitting up right in the hospital bed, a tablet laid out in his lap he had been plinking at, maybe playing a game or reading the news. His face lit up as he saw Hank enter, flashing him one of his typical sunny grins. "Hank! It's good to see you!"

"How have you been holding up?"

"Ehh, you know." He tipped his head from one side to the other, "They're giving me the good old fashioned flesh plugs, so you know how it goes."

'Flesh plugs' were cop speak for Live Tissue Lattice Transplants (called LTLTs or LTL transplants), where a constructed cynlinder made of stem cells and liquid silicone would be placed inside the perforation injury to premote rapid healing and muscle regeneration. The 'lattice' of liquid silicone would remain in the body as a stabilizer before eventually being broken down and absorbed into the bloodstream to be harmlessly excreted through urine. The transplants were mostly used to treat bullet wound injuries and the occasional impalement, so police tended to be the ones most frequently experincing the procedure. It was miraculously effective and cut down the recovery time to a twentieth of how it used to be, but the treatment required a bone marrow biopsy to extract the host compatible stem cells. Ironically, that single thing tended to cause worse pain than the actual 'recovering from getting fucking shot' part. Hank had gotten a few flesh plugs in his time, and he considered himself lucky he was only hobbling around sore a few days after most of the time considering the horror stories of chronic pain he'd heard about.

Nowadays there were different treatment options for bullet trauma, like fancy nanomachine mending and vibrational cell stimulation and stuff like that, but the 'flesh plugs' tended to still be the simplest, cheapest, and the treatment was covered by their insurance. 

"They keeping you ahead of the pain?" He asked, shooting him a more sympathetic look.

"Oh yeah," Chris waved one of his hands dismissively. "I'm not feeling anything bad. They got me on..." His brows pinched a little, "Well, they got me on something. I'm sure I'll read it off the perscription they give me when I get out."

"I see some people already dropped by. The Missus come to visit?"

"Yes she did." His grin widened as he tilted his head back into the cushion behind him. "And she is _pissed_. Damian's first Christmas this year and here I am getting myself shot."

In another life, Hank might have assured him that it was just one Christmas, and Damian was just five months old and wouldn't have remembered it anyway. He might have said that there would be another year coming up to celebrate with his son. In this life, Hank knew there were no such assurances. "I know you'll make it up to both of them." He told him instead.

Chris' eyes softened, and he seemed to realize the meaning behind the words. "Yeah. I will."

"The flowers are nice." He added, after a moment, before the silence had a chance to get stifling. "Your wife bring those too?"

"I don't know?" Chris made a bit of a face, eyebrow tugged up like he was confused about it. "No idea who sent them, some delivery person just dropped them off and left a card."

"That's weird." Chris wasn't really a flowers kind of guy anyways, so he couldn't imagine anyone at the DPD sending them either. He walked across the room to pick up the card near the vase, turning it over to look at the other side.

 _MY CONDOLENCES FOR YOUR INJURY_ , in glimmering, iridescent-gray lettering on the white card. It was the old fashioned type of 'holographic' material giving it that flair. Did Cyberlife hear about what had happened and send him flowers alongside the most cluelessly tone deaf sympathy message he'd ever seen?

...Did _the RK900_ send Chris flowers?

"Chris, do you mind if..." He looked over his shoulder at the man, setting the card back down, "...I ask you about the case you were on with Gavin?"

Chris opened his mouth, looking his way. Then he was dropping his gaze, pointedly staring at the wall instead of back at him. "Are you sure you really should be asking me that? Because, you know." The whole incident in the office and getting verbally dressed down by the RK900 was still fresh on his memory, so yes, Hank really did know.

"Chris, you just got shot by a berserk android. In the middle of a firefight with," he tossed his hand in the air, "Half a dozen armed androids. I think that is the point where I get to ask what exactly the hell was going on."  
The man shuffled his shoulders a little, clearly uncomfortable with the line of conversation. "Yeah but... You know what, forget it. The jist of it is that Gavin and the RK900 have been tracking down what they think is an underground network of deviants. That old lady android they dragged in the other day?" Something in Hank's chest stung at the mention, but he nodded for him to continue, "Some way or another she pointed them to that store. Apparently it was kind of a halfway house for androids. They'd been using it to repair androids--like a clinic--before sending them somewhere else. They brought me along as backup, but when we got there it was just this tiny lady android there in the back room. According to Archie, she was a high priority target."

Hank blinked. "Wait-- _Archie?_ "

There was an immediate look of bashful embarrassment from the man and he hunched over in his seat. "Well, Gavin calls him RK. 'Ar-kay', Archie. Kind of sounds alike." He noted the face Hank was making. "No?" 

"He absolutely does not look like an 'Archie', come on." He realized himself a second after he said it, that old, cold feeling lurching at the base of his stomach. "It. It doesn't look like an Archie." He corrected himself, shaking his head.

"Well, he--it needs a name. 'Ar-Kay-nine-hundred' is kind of a mouthful to be saying all the time. Hell, even just 'the-nine-hundred' isn't fun to be saying all the time."

He didn't really want to spend any more time on the subject. If it or Cyberlife cared about the damn android having a name, they would have given it one. And they hadn't. "Anyway," He tried to get them back on track, "It was the blonde woman android that the 900 was after?"

"What? No. The tiny black lady android. Did you guys not bring her in?"

That must have been the mysterious sixth android that hadn't been among his headcount. "We brought in five androids and none of them matched that description. I don't think I ever even saw her."

Chris' brow furrowed, staring resolutely at something beyond the room as he thought it over. "Well. She must have gotten away then. RK acted like she was some kind of ringleader, and when he and Gavin moved in to cuff her, it was like she called out for help with radio signals or something. Those five other androids just dropped in out of no where. And the big guy, you saw the big guy android, right?"

"Yeah, that guy I did see." And he had tried to kill him, though he didn't feel the need to bring that up to Chris right then.

"He looked at us, me and Gavin, and he said out loud," Chris took a breath, his gaze snapping back to Hank, "And I am not making this up, I remember it very clearly. He said 'take out the humans first'. Then one of his friends just unloaded into my chest before I could get out of there. A little while later you showed up. Up until you did I was just laying there bleeding out while they kept shooting over me." He frowned even further, and Hank could see his hands ball into fists in the bedsheets. "It was weird. It was like, once I was down they could have finished me at any time but they didn't. They kept an eye on me the whole time, and they shot at Gavin and RK when they tried to get close to me. Like I was bait."

Hank remembered the gunfire seemingly following him every step of the way trying to get Chris out of the scene. The RK900 stepping out of cover to take the attention off of them. "...You were lucky they missed anything important."

"When have you ever known an android to _miss,_ Hank?" Chris pointed that frown at him, and he seemed agitated. Scared, almost.

"Tons of times." He didn't get enough of a chance to tell whether Connor was a crack shot or not, but that one PL600 they'd engaged on the rooftop hadn't exactly been painstakingly accurate when trying to return fire at the cops bearing down on him. "Just because it's an android doesn't mean it's superhumanly good at everything."

"I just... don't take this the wrong way, Hank, but I think you should stay away from the 900's cases."

His train of thought came to an abrupt halt. He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I... I'm not talking about what he said to you in the office, alright? I don't care about what Cyberlife thinks about you. I don't even care if you are a 'deviant sympathizer'." The term still stung him a little, gave him a sharp sense of discomfort hearing it out loud. "I mean... Markus didn't seem like a bad guy to me. What me and Steve did in Capitol Park to those androids... I still think about it a lot. He could have let them tear us apart. But he didn't. He got us out of there alive, even though his people were furious about it."

It was the first time Chris had ever really talked to him about what had happened at Capital Park. He'd been visibly shaken up by it for a long while after, and even now he had that thousand yard look in his eyes as he recalled it. Hank didn't know what to say to him. "And Connor. We didn't really get to know him much, but he seemed like a good guy to me, Hank. I think he could have been one of us."

Hank managed a lopsided smile at that. As small of a gesture as it was, it was nice hearing that from Chris.

"But the 900, he's not like Connor. He's different. It's like there's a war going on between him and the other androids in the city."

 

Hank thought about Chris, bleeding out in the middle of the store floor, the androids daring Gavin or the RK900 to try and approach him.

The WR600 pointing his gun at him, only for the RK900 to take the bullets for him.

_Like I was bait._

The RK900, standing over the WR600 that had gotten shot through the head and survived.

_It's as if the modification was made as an adaptation against my own methods._

 

"I'm saying you should stay out of this because it's _dangerous_." Chris insisted, meeting his gaze. "I got involved and like you said, I was lucky to make it out alive." He took in a deep, heavy breath under the hospital blankets. "Most of all, it's Cyberlife I'm worried about, and they're the ones who seem to have it out for you."

Hank blinked again. "You're worried about Cyberlife...? What the hell are they going to do? Ask for my badge?"

"Hank, it's _the_ trillion dollar company, and what happened with Markus and Jericho shook them up and could have destroyed their image in the public's eye. You think they aren't going to be taking measures to prevent that from happening again?"

It startled a chuckle out of him and he raised a hand to rub it over his face. "Jesus, Chris, you're beginning to sound like a conspiracy theorist. Are you going to start talking about the JFK file redactions too?"

He realized it was the wrong thing to say when Chris gave him a very real look of offense in return. "Hank, this is serious! The 900 is armed at all times. Did you not notice that? That was the one thing Warren wouldn't budge on before, the one actual thing she stuck to her guns on. 'No androids carrying weapons on the streets'. After the Jericho incident, suddenly they passed an amendment to the Androids Act. Now 'Cyberlife authorized security units' are allowed to carry guns. They passed it two days before the 900 showed up. That doesn't worry you any?"

Well, shit. When he phrased it that way, it kind of did. He took in a deep breath of his own. This, what he was about to ask, he had never spoken about with anyone else before besides Connor. That doubt in his chest that had long since grown to an awareness of the inescapable truth. Maybe Chris had found himself facing that truth too. "Do you ever think about whether we're in the right doing this?" He asked him, like he'd asked Connor. "Helping Cyberlife take out these 'deviants'?"

There was resignation in Chris' face. A long suffering tiredness that he recognized. "...I've been thinking about it every day for a while now, Hank. But if we're in the wrong here, what exactly does it make us?"

He didn't know. He didn't have an answer for him.

"Look, just... watch out for yourself, Hank. I know you, and I know you don't stay out of trouble when you think something wrong is going on. But everything about this is giving me a bad feeling."

He sighed, finally nodding his head. "Yeah. Alright. Alright. I'll be careful."

Chris looked relieved, laying back in his bed, the tension visibly ebbing from his body. "And... Thanks, Hank. For coming to get me out of there. Damian still has his dad because of you. That's the most I could ask for this Christmas."

"I know you would have done the same for me."

There was the buzz of his phone alarm going off. Hank pulled it from his pocket, checking over the time. 8 PM, end of visitor hours. Chris seemed to realize it too, glancing over his tablet.

"...I should probably get going. Let you get back to recovering and all that."

"Yeah. Merry Christmas, man. Hope to meet you back in the office soon."

He nodded his head. "Heal up fast. Get out of here soon. Grab some presents for Damian and the Missus and you'll be just fine." He flashed him a thumbs up. Chris just rolled his eyes at him, but the smile was back on his face.

 

 

 

New search: _Android Memory Loss Help_

It immediately pulled up a Cyberlife branded FAQ page. Within all the corporate tech support bullshit he found a bunch of drop down sections. 

_**What are things that can cause an android's memory to become damaged?** _  
_An android can lose memory data for a variety reasons. If the memory loss is partial, it may have been caused by localized damage to an android's memory chip or mind palace processor. For a list of standard product codes by android model number, click **here.**_  
_If the android has complete memory loss, it is possible the installed memory chip may be incompatible with a new software update. To troubleshoot possible software incompatibilities, click **here**. To resolve a confirmed incompatility, please contact your nearest Cyberlife certified android maintence location._

Yeah, he doubted that was the cause. Plus he didn't exactly have a way to take Connor to an Android Zone. None of it was what he was looking for. He scrolled further down the memory section until he saw something else.

_**Can an android's memory be restored after a full system wipe?** _  
_Unless an android's memory has been previously backed up, memory loss from a wipe is **permanent** and cannot be recovered. For assistance with restoring from a data back up, click **here.**_

Hank frowned at his screen. That was pretty fucking straightforward and damning. Was that it, then? Every single thing Connor had been through was just lost forever? Cyberlife might have kept a backup of his memories on file somewhere, he figured, just for archiving or whatever, but that didn't help him and it didn't help Connor.

There had to be something more to it.

He backed out of Cyberlife's pages and instead went to the real source of answers: user forums. 

_**Topic: Recovering memories after a wipe???**_  
**Poster: aj700boss3,** _Update from previous thread. Basically my aj700 fell off a ladder while cleaning out the gutters two weeks ago and got seriously damaged in a horrible freak accident. Apparently in the process of repairing her they had to give her a full system wipe. COMPLETE DATA LOSS WTF. We've owned her for nearly three years and she doesn't remember anything or any of our presets. Cyberlife representative has said there's nothing they can do about it and we just have to teach her everything all over again. Is there anything we can do?_

**[Highest rated reply] Poster: obsoleteworker,** _It's possible you might be able to. I don't know how exactly they do the wipe at the place you went to, but if it's anything like how computers are wiped it's possible the data isn't removed but instead the address tables to the memories have been removed. If her memory hasn't been rewritten with a bunch of new stuff yet it could all still be there. I've seen in another thread [link] about an android that was supposed to be wiped started recalling memories after being exposed to similar experiences. Obviously the android in that thread was bugged but it could work for you. Try exposing her to her previous routine and ask her to try and recall anything related to that. Show her the whole house all over again, etc._

There were more threads like it, peppered across user forums. Occasionally a paid Cyberlife representative would drop in to confirm that wiped memories could not be recovered but others reported successes at getting an android to access memories that should have been removed.

The linked thread was the one that caught his eye. 

_**Topic: ax acting f***ed up**_  
**Poster: tdws1995** _okay so i sent in my ax400 for repairs after it was damaged in a household accident. for security purposes i asked for it to be system wiped during the repair. it acted normal for a day (had to reteach it the chores, house layout) but then it started acting really weird and brought up events that happened before the wipe after talking with my daughter. why is this happening? shouldn't the wipe have cleared everything?_  
Then, under the post, an edit.  
_**EDIT, November 12, 2038:** yeah it was one of the deviant glitch androids after all. it's been dealt with._

A deviant. Would that matter? Would only deviants be able to access memories that were supposed to be blocked off from them?

Was Connor really a deviant?

 

 _I self test regularly. I know what I am and what I am not._

_I am not a deviant._ He had told Kamski, a waver in his voice even then. 

_I felt it die. Like I was dying. I was scared._

Hank held onto that thought. He came up with a plan for tomorrow, a way to drag Connor's memories back kicking and screaming if he had to. He thought it over, again and again, planned it out to the letter until all the thoughts slipped from his head and the feeling of his cheek resting against his kitchen table became more comfortable than it had any right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that so far Hank has been operating under a very flawed assumption about Connor and RK800's as a whole, due to a lack of exposure to certain in game events. That will be rectified soon :)
> 
> I've been having a bit of fun putting more social media aspects into the fic. When it comes to speculative fiction written before the advent of the internet, it's kind of remarkable how much the concept of social media doesn't really crop up much. Digital encyclopedias? Sure. Video calls? Of course. But the sheer interconnectedness of social media seems like it kinda blindsided humanity a little. And it's weird how much it's a non entity in D:BH despite being written in a time where social media exists. So, uh, as a guy who did grow up in that era Hank actually knows how to use the internet in this fic.
> 
> I also had a bit of fun doing some speculative medical technology. It might sound like complete dumb bullshit for anyone who actually knows anything about medicine but hey.


	6. MEMORY ALLOCATION ERROR

He awoke not to the sound of his alarm, but to the feeling of a very insistent and very wet nose pushing against his hand where it was resting in his lap. He jerked upright, his cheek peeling off of his kitchen table where it had been stuck in place with dried and not so dried drool. Holy shit, his back hurt. Holy shit, his _everything_ hurt.

Sumo barked at him, shuffling in place with a shake of his tail that was enough to waggle his entire rump, backing up a little before coming up close again to snuffle and whine into his hand. An old puppy's way of telling him he was hungry. "Yeah, yeah, I'm up." He told him, running his hand over his head in between his ears. "What fuckin'... time is it?"

He found his phone still on the table next to him.

12:31 PM

_You have 2 missed alarms._

_You have 1 missed call._ He didn't need to see the full contact information to know it was probably Jeffrey.

He was late, even by mister professional piece of shit Hank Anderson standards.

He had to brace both hands across his table to physically drag himself onto two unsteady legs. His absolutely fucked sleep schedule wasn't doing his body any favors these days, and right then he felt like he was being held together by popsicle sticks and scotch tape. He fed Sumo, he shoved some bread into the toaster, and he hobbled back to the bedroom to get a change of clothes.

As he scrambled to get ready for work, he also had something else to get together. If he'd gotten up with his alarm he would have had more time to prepare, but instead he was just pulling one of his old duffle bags down from his closet. He tossed a few things from his house into it, zipped it up, and threw it into the backseat of his car. 

He, belatedly, remembered he hadn't eaten yet. 

He grabbed the cooling toast from the toaster, shoved a slice of cheese between them, stuck it in his mouth, and hopped back in the car to pull out onto the road.

 

The radio droned on with traffic and weather reports as he made his usual drive to the precinct. He found his thoughts sliding back to his visit with Chris and the man's tensely given warning. He really did sound like a conspiracy theorist to him with everything he'd said about Cyberlife. But maybe he wasn't wrong.

At the next stoplight, he reached down to switch through a few channels. In truth, real radio had died an ignoble death with the advent of the self driving vehicle. Instead of just listening to music on the road, most people wanted visual as well as audio entertainment, and FM and AM channels languished as they were replaced by and large by satellite TV, streaming and games. Some of them were still around, but most stations were for emergency services or owned by city councils. He knew Wayne State University's Theatre and Dance department ran radio shows periodically (with acting and screenwriting being one of the few creative fields that hadn't been completely destroyed by androids) styled after old fashioned radio dramas and comedy routines with their own foley team and everything. He liked to listen in when they were happening, but for the most part that was about the only use his old car radio got.

Since he actually had to pay attention while driving, he'd gotten himself one of the many obscure bootleg signal converters that took video streaming and played them back as plain audio for him. After a few more seconds (and a few impatient taxis beeping insistently behind him) he found a channel he was looking for.

_"You're back with Rex Brennan and the Rex Effect."_ The man's voice was the exact same caustic half shout as every other shock jock he'd watched and listened to over the course of his life. Hank never knew exactly why they all seemed to sound and talk exactly the same but they really did. _"Now we're moving on to something people have been asking me to talk about since a piece of interesting news just happened to cross my desk this morning. That's right, we're going to talk about Cyberlife. In a quiet meeting with its investors last week, Cyberlife just announced their best holiday season in three years. Their sales? Unbelievably strong this year, and everyone there in their ivory tower is just absolutely chuffed, let me tell you."_

_"All the time, since November I've been having people saying to me,"_ His already obnoxious voice dipped into a higher pitched sniveling tone as he imitated one of his detractors, _"'This is it, Rex. Cyberlife is finished. The Jericho fiasco has ruined them. It's all over for Cyberlife and then all the jobs will be coming back'. I hate to be the one giving the wake up calls here, but it's time to wake the fuck up! Reuters poll, published December first. 37 percent of polled Americans reported that they have 'Little or no trust' in Cyberlife's ability to ensure consumer safety. 23 percent said they 'weren't sure' if they could trust Cyberlife to ensure their safety! 60 percent of Americans don't trust the company anymore, and guess what? They're breaking their own fucking records in sales! Jericho didn't do jack fucking shit!"_

_"So people want to know what I think. I'll tell you what I think about it. I think the whole thing with Jericho was some convenient bullshit. Yeah I see you looking at me Sammy, shaking your head. But listen to me. Two words: planned obscelence. Yeah, we remember that when iPads and iPhones were all the rage. No one's going to buy androids if Cyberlife just comes out and says 'yeah our androids are just total shit, they're only good for three years give or take'. Oh, they can last for decades, they're so long lasting, like the fucking Energizer bunny. But you and I both know that's not good for any kind of business. Now, instead you make up this big story about glitches in android brains and you have some stupid android maid go and stab its owner,"_ The man made an exaggerated explosion sound with his mouth, _"Oh shit, suddenly we got to get rid of all the older models and replace them with brand spankin' new glitch free androids. And guess who gets to pay for it? We do, you dumb fucks! We're paying for it! It's not enough that Cyberlife gets to run the economy but now they get to squeeze that extra bit out of us."_

_"I want you all to be watching for it in the future. If next year Cyberlife comes up with some fucking android mad cow disease and suddenly we got to replace all the parts all over again and it's going to cost the country another twelve billion dollars or whatever the estimated cost is now, then you'll know I'm the one who had this figured out."_

He turned the show back off when the topic 'Rex' was railing about drifted away from Cyberlife. He didn't listen to shock jocks or talk radio often (the only politics he ever got involved in was local stuff going down in Detroit itself), but sometimes he had to admit it worked as an ear to the ground, a way to gauge if other people were sniffing out the smell of bullshit coming from somewhere.

Plus it was kind of funny to him, in some sick and unfunny way, seeing how off base actual conspiracy theorists were about what had really gone down with Jericho.

 

The DPD was quieter than it usually was on most days. About a quarter of the personnel had the day off, and more would be leaving later in the day. Most of the long time staff already had their schedules for the holidays hashed out, either taking one day off or working certain times of the day before going home. Ben had the day off, celebrating with his extended family in a big party on Christmas Eve, as per usual. Fowler worked on the 24th and took Christmas Day off, as per usual. There were officers like him, who didn't have anywhere else to be, or didn't celebrate the holiday period at all and showed up on both days as if it were just another shift. As per usual.

He entered with his duffle bag at his side, the bullpen mostly empty. Some desks had been strung up with gently blinking LEDs, someone having put an animated hologram of a snowy scene of pine trees and a cottage on a hill up on one of the walls. It was as close as the DPD got to festive, but he supposed it livened things up a little. His eyes were drawn to the flashing lights, and it took him a moment to realize that there, in the middle of the office, the RK900 was sitting right across from his desk.  
The usual feeling of vertigo he got upon seeing him that time was instead more like if his head had been slammed into a wall. The stupid fucking android sat exactly like Connor had, ramrod straight, feet planted on the ground, hands laid just behind its knees, staring forward. It caught the sight of Hank in its peripherals seemingly the exact second after Hank had noticed it, turning the chair around to face him before it rose to its feet.

It had been waiting for him.

"Lieutenant Anderson." It greeted, its voice short and clipped, lacking any sort of pleasantry to it. "You're an hour and a half later to the precinct than your average, already late arrival time. Captain Fowler attempted to reach you by phone earlier today."

Jesus, had it been sitting near his desk like a vulture waiting for him to arrive in order to chew him out? He pulled his phone from his pocket, giving it a brief wave for the android. "Thanks, I noticed." He began to side stepped around him to get to his desk and the RK900 stepped with him, blocking him from moving forward. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably. "...What the fuck do you want?" He groused out, put on the defensive right out the gate.

It held its sharp eye contact as it began to speak. "The perpetrator for the Valiroad robbery is Dana Strickland, age 36, resident of Detroit. Her birthdate and Michigan State ID are included in her profile that I've added to your case files. I do not have clearance to submit a warrant affidavit, but given the evidence I've also included, probable cause is clearly established and it should be approved for her arrest."

That was a lot for him to process at once. "Wait, hold on. The Valiroad robbery." He repeated, blinking his eyes as he thought it over. "I didn't even have suspects put together for that--how the hell did you find the perpetrator?"

"The voice data." The RK900 replied, as if it should have been obvious. "All that was required was for me to create the profile based off of your recording of the android witness and then compare it with court recordings of individuals who matched the physical description of the perpetrator."

"Oh, that's all it required, huh?" He'd been planning on handing over the voice recording to one of the PC200's or PM700's for them to analyze to see if that would get him anywhere. He really hadn't been expecting it to get snatched out of his hands by the RK900. "And how long did that take you?"

"No more than three hours, I found a match within the first eight hundred court recordings."

Eight hundred goddamned recordings of people pleading their case in criminal court. Three hours straight of effort from _an android._ "On some level you have to realize that's ridiculous, right? Is there a busted program in your brain that's not reminding you that that kind of thing takes time for humans to do?" Connor had been pretty clueless at times when it came to humans but this was completely next level obliviousness. If he didn't have bigger concerns on his plate it would have been really funny to him. Instead, "Actually, forget that, here's what I really want to know: What the fuck are you doing getting involved in my case?"

If the RK900 sensed the tension in him, it didn't show it. "The robbery occurred three days ago, and you had yet to do anything more than interview witnesses. I acted in order to move the case along." The android was insulting him to his face, saying he was too slow to be tolerated, and sounding just as matter-of-fact and uncaring as always in the process. But worse still was the underlying implication: the android had accessed his case files. His notes, his evidence. Meaning it had clearance to access them somehow. 

"Oh, so I can't get involved in any of your cases but you're just fine with snooping in on shit that has nothing to do with you." He thrust one hand out towards him, the backs of his knuckles almost touching the android's shoulder.

The RK900's face twitched. It was the briefest flicker of an expression, so fast Hank wasn't entirely sure he didn't imagine it. But for a second there, the android looked almost, unbelievably enough, _sheepish._ Then, it was gone, and it was back to staring at him in defiance. He definitely had to have imagined that. "I would not have gotten involved in your case if you had not taken so long to make progress with it, Lieutenant. I will not get involved in the future unless I sense additional serious delays in your case progress."

It was almost a threat. A crack of a whip over his head. For some reason, it was Chris' words from the day before that came echoing in his head again. _It's Cyberlife I'm worried about, and they're the ones who seem to have it out for you._

"Fuck you." He spat back.

The RK900 didn't bristle, didn't even blink at his anger. "I'm not sure I understand your hostility, Lieutenant Anderson."

He scrunched up his eyes at him. "'Don't understand my hostility'," He echoed, lips pulled back in derision, "You're opening up my case files, snooping around in my evidence and telling me I'm not doing my job. Guess what: that's the kind of thing that will make someone get hostile." He was aware of the hypocrisy of what he was saying, of course. Very aware. But it was different when he was the one snooping.

"I am not obstructing your investigation, Lieutenant. I am not negatively impacting your ability to contact witnesses, do research or search for suspects. In fact, I have just helped you substantially with the case." There was the tiniest upward tilt to its eyebrows. It was an echo of a look he'd seen on Connor's face before. Badly feigned innocence, too theatrical to really be believed.

Hank scoffed. "I didn't ask for your help, and beyond that, I don't want your help."

"I am aware. Thus, as I have told you, in the future you can assure my lack of involvement by completing your cases in a timely manner."

Hank had to wonder if the android was hounding every other detective in the precinct if they took too long or if this was just him. He was sure if the RK900 had tried to pull this shit on Ben he would have heard about it by now.

Maybe he'd talk to Jeffrey about it, he had more than half a mind to complain. If this was another condition of Cyberlife's collaboration with the DPD, he could raise hell over it. He opened his mouth to say as much to the RK900, but--

"RK." Gavin's raised voice cut across the office space. The man was leaning in the doorway to the break room, his expression dull, tired and short on patience. "You going to keep chitchatting with Anderson all day, or do you want to get some work done?"  
The android turned its head to look his way, the look of annoyance on its face gone in an instant, snapped back to its neutral, blank expression. "Of course, detective." It moved across the office space to flank Gavin's side without any further acknowledgement given to Hank, as if he had simply stopped existing in its awareness.

"Let's go." Gavin looked back over his shoulder at Hank as he walked the two of them through the bullpen. To his surprise, the man almost seemed... apologetic, flashing him a look as if he were doing him a favor.

Maybe he was.

 

Hank went through the files the RK900 had placed in his case folder. The meticulously sorted and labeled files on the perpetrator and the evidence the android had created were all there, all in perfect order, all ready to be used to draw up a search warrant. As much as he hated it and as much as the entire thing put a foul taste in his mouth, he couldn't argue with the results. The court recordings of Dana Strickland had been included in the mix, and even to his very human and half trained ears, the voice seemed like a clear match with the way the woman yelled at the presiding judge. The traffic recordings also got more footage of her, and once the warrant was received all he would have to do would be to call the taxi service to get her company profile and payment information as further evidence. After that it took him a bit of time to type it the warrant affidavit and send it off to the district court, but he got it done. 

He looked at his duffle bag where it rested against his feet.

What he was about to do was... ill-advised to say the least. Taking items out of the evidence locker for non-police purposes was one way to get his ass in hot water, point blank. He wasn't a scumbag ready to nab a bag of red ice from a bust like some bastards in other departments, but it still had apprehension fluttering in his stomach. He waited until it was nearly the end of the afternoon shift before he got out of his seat with the duffle bag in hand.

He'd kept an eye on the hallway to the evidence locker his entire shift, and he hadn't seen anyone coming or going. The single unknown was when Reed and the android would be back, and if they'd be bringing their usual grisly trophies back with them.

Now or never, he convinced himself.

He entered the evidence locker and logged in, pulling up his own profile as usual. Once again, the room drew up his own morbid collection. That time, it wasn't the androids he was there for. He instead looked to the central shelves between the hanging bodies, to where the smaller items Connor had recovered were. He hadn't given them much mind at the time simply because Connor hadn't. He reached out to pick up the journal on one shelf. Old fashioned paper and pen, just like Hank himself preferred where he could get it. Connor had told him that the strange writing and labyrinthine drawings held within would have taken weeks for even an android brain to decode, and with Rupert Travis long gone there was no way to get the cipher from him. He flipped through the pages for a moment, looking through all the perfectly neat but incomprehensible writing and sharp edged mazes. There, on one single page, was a pencil sketch of a pigeon.

Hank closed the journal, unzipping the duffle bag so he could place it inside.

The second artifact left behind was the carved statue from the HK400. Connor hadn't given much mind to it either, but considering it had been something the android had hand carved, it had been taken as evidence anyways. Picking it up in his hands, he wasn't exactly sure what the android had carved it out of. It felt like ceramic, but he had no idea where he could have gotten a mass of it considering he had never left the house and had spent all his time in hiding. Maybe there had been something in the attic he had overlooked. He wrapped it up in the old tissue paper he'd pulled down from his closet and shoved it into the bottom of his bag. His initial plan had been to disguise it in a wine box, but Club Scarlet had a 'no outside drinks' policy, because of course it did.

The last he had to look over were the evidence tablets on the shelves. Keeping every significant collection of video and audio files in that state was kind of expensive, but it ensured they remained isolated and preserved if anything should happen to the DPD's main servers. He quickly transferred both files, the HK400's words and Markus' speech, over to his own phone.

He wondered if there was more he could take, something else in the room that might help Connor. If he knew more about androids, he might have been able to take the memory banks from their bodies or something. All three of them had encountered Connor, after all. The first android, Daniel, had specifically requested an android negotiator and had gotten Connor. The HK400 had had a long conversation with Connor. The second PL600 had shared a direct connection with Connor. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to access those memories and he didn't have the time to find out right then. If this didn't work, maybe it was something he could fall back on.

But he really hoped what he was doing would work.

He zipped up the duffle bag, closed out of the system, and headed out.

 

Trim and well dressed in a different dress shirt, the two bouncers greeted him with a flicker of recognition. Hank was more relaxed that time, keeping on his casual air and acting like he damn well belonged there.

"We need to check your bag, sir." The guy in the white suit indicated.

"Go right ahead." He held it out for him to take.

The duffle bag was unzipped and the bouncer fingered through everything, pausing to examine the journal before putting it back in. Hank had brought other, more mundane things to try and throw off the scent. Tissues. A half used bottle of lubricant. A headband with fuzzy reindeer antlers and ears from a very old Christmas party. His viel of plausible deniability. He could hear the crumple of tissue paper as the bouncer felt up the statuette, and his eyebrow popped up in turn, but the man made no move to remove it from the wrapper. Maybe he assumed it was a huge toy. It _was_ kind of phallic looking, admittedly.

The bouncer swept both him and the bag over with the paddle before handing it back to him, satisfied. "Enjoy your time at Scarlet, sir."

 

Once again, there was no Connor out on the stages. He checked again, just to be sure, before he headed back to the private rooms. Jacoby was there at the reception area once again, this time with his head up and his attention on the hallway instead of on his tablet.

"Mister Anderson!" The kid greeted him with a smile. Hank wasn't sure if Jacoby remembering his name should worry him or not. "Have a good time last round?"

"Sure did." The duffle bag hung on his shoulder as he came over to the counter, leaning one elbow over the surface. "You mind if I rent him again for the day?"

Jacoby's grin fell as soon as he asked and he threw a quick glance at the rooms behind him before looking back to Hank. "Uh, the RK800 is with someone else right now. Sorry, man."

He felt the floor drop out from under him, his stomach falling and falling and dragging him down with it. The image came to him against his will, Connor entertaining someone else, some faceless stranger, following his protocols as they had been given to him. He'd been at this since November 22nd, Connor had told him. He thought about the two girls from Club Eden, their experiences, how angry and disgusted and hurt after everything they'd been put through. What Connor was getting put through.

He didn't know what kind of face he was making but Jacoby gave him a more sympathetic look. "Hey, for future reference, you can reserve it ahead of time."

That caught his attention, snapped him out of it a little. "You can do that?"

"Yeah, just call our number. You can pre-pay and drop by at whatever time you want."

Well, that was something he could factor into his plans. "You have any idea when the RK800 is going to be free?"

Jacoby made another face, brow furrowing as he grabbed for his tablet behind the counter, the pale glow from the screen reflecting off his tie. "Uh, well. No, not exactly, 'cause, you know. But assuming the session isn't extended, it's got another fifteen minutes and then it'll need another ten minutes to uh." the kid bobbed his head from one side to the other as he looked back Hank's way. "Decontaminate."

Hank fought back the urge to gag at that. Bodily fluids and Connor just seemed to always make him queasy. In retrospect, that might have been why he couldn't find Connor anywhere in the club the day before. Because he was 'decontaminating'.  
So he had time to kill. "I can take an android off site if I want to, right?" He concluded, based on the research he had done the night before.

"Well, yeah, they're escorts. You can take them anywhere as long as you don't violate our terms of service and get them back before curfew."

"What exactly do people do that would violate your terms of service?"

"Oh, you know, stuff like trying to pimp out the androids for money, yeah people have actually done that, or seriously damaging them without paying the deposit first."

Fucking humans. It was a stark reminder of what Connor was facing all the time. Hank needed to figure out how to get him out of here and soon. Jacoby seemed more relaxed around him now that their initial meeting had passed and he was seeing Hank as a customer. Still, he had to be careful about what he asked. "So I just tell you I'm leaving with one or what?"

The kid grinned a little. "We'll need some collateral as part of club policy, but beyond that, yeah that's about it."

Collateral was... pretty old fashioned and kind of tacky for a club like this, versus just asking for a deposit, and Hank wasn't entirely sure if it really was club policy or if he was considered borderline, someone less trustworthy that Jacoby felt the need to demand collateral from just in case. "Would housekeys work?"

"Yeah, sure."

Hank reached into his pocket, fishing out his keys. He pulled his car key off of the ring and tossed the remaining bundle onto the counter. It slid forward and off the edge from the momentum and Jacoby lurched forward to catch them in his hands. "Uh, right now?"

"As soon as the RK800 is free, I'm going."

 

Minutes passed in the quiet of the private room hallway, Hank with his hands folded in his lap. When he listened hard enough he could still hear the club music, thrumming low and muted just beyond the acoustic dampeners. He checked his phone from time to time, plotting out the route they'd be taking on a map. Unfortunately they were losing daylight, the sun had already gone down and the light was fading fast. He pulled up the footage of Markus' speech. Markus the android, clear voiced and calm as he laid out the simple demands for android rights and recognition. He remembered how Connor was able to get a glimpse of his three accomplices just by looking at the reflection in his eyes.

Hopefully, so would Connor.

"Hey!" Jacoby called out to him, raising his voice so it could be heard over the dampeners close by. "Dollface is free. You want me to just call it here?"

"Yeah, that works." He rose back up out of his seat, putting his phone away. The kid handed him a similar tablet, the android screen already up and labeled with the same _RK800 "DOLLFACE"_. The menu had apparently saved his preferences, everything he had selected last time already set up, save for the 'versatile' temperament option having been already switched to 'submissive'. He paused as he looked over the two names at the top of the menu. 'Connor' and 'Hank'.  
He searched through his memories, thinking over what Connor had called him most often as they had worked together. It hadn't been 'Hank', he realized. He erased it and typed in a new answer: 'Lieutenant'.

 

"Hello, Lieutenant." Hearing the greeting coming out of Connor's mouth once again was almost a relief. It was like he'd been waiting to hear it again and just hadn't realized it, and now that he had, he felt... better. "It's good to see you again. I hope you have been doing well." The words out of his mouth were so close to being something Connor would say. So damn close. The android had changed into an identical outfit as the day before, looking prim and fresh as he stood in the hallway.

He hefted the duffle bag higher onto his shoulder. "Come on, Connor. We're going for a ride." He hadn't been sure he'd be able to leave with Connor so easily, hence packing the items. Now he realized he could have just left the duffle bag in the car and not bothered with trying to disguise it to get it past the bouncers, leaving him feeling pretty dumb for all the effort.

It felt strange to escort Connor out into the open area and back through the entrance way. He could feel the eyes of strangers and the bouncers on him keenly, a prickle in his ears even as he forced himself to keep casual and relaxed. Connor fell into step behind him, thankfully quiet as he walked.

It was freezing when they stepped outside, the cloudy sky cast duller pinks and light grays above the river. His immediate thought was that Connor was underdressed. He should have brought a spare jacket for him, another aspect he'd overlooked in his plans. He quickly unlocked the passenger side door for him, and like he had so many times before, and Connor obediently ducked inside and buckled himself in without a word of question. Hank placed the duffle bag in his lap as he pulled himself inside the car and pushed in the key. He turned the heater on as the engine roared to life, his hands resting on the steering wheel.

"You remember what I told you last time, right? About not touching me?" He didn't look over his way yet, staring out over the parking lot in front of him. 

"Yes. I am not to touch you unless you tell me otherwise."

He belted out a heavy exhale, relaxing a bit. "Great, glad we got that part out of the way. Next part." He turned over in his seat to face him. Connor was already looking his way, his hands resting gently atop the duffle bag where he held it in his lap. "You're Connor. On November fifth of this year, you were assigned as my partner in the DPD. We investigated androids together. You remember any of that?"

The android blinked at him, his eyes flicking about Hank's face, taking in his expression. Analyzing him. "...I'm afraid not?" His tone climbed higher at the end of the words, making it a question.

The small hope that had been kindling in his chest since seeing Connor again was immediately snuffed out. Yeah, of course it wouldn't be that easy. "We talked about it yesterday. Do you remember that?"

"As per club policy, to maintain patron privacy all Scarlet own androids receive system wide memory wipes every twenty four hours." Connor explained, tapping into that same script again. "Unfortunately I cannot remember exact topics discussed on previous days we've spent together. I sincerely apologize if my conversations with you are disjointed or repetitive as a result."

"Then how come you remember me ordering you not to touch me?" He countered, tipping his head back.

"It was added to your Scarlet profile so I could better fit your preferences, Lieutenant. I am able to access and update it at any time." Connor answered simply, a smile back on his face.

Right, of course, that made sense. He grunted in acknowledgement as he pulled them out of the parking lot and onto the road, retracing the well worn path in his memory. 

 

It didn't take them too long for him to pull up at Jimmy's, but by then the last peals of daylight had dipped below the horizon, leaving Detroit in the gloomy winter darkness. It had been night time when Connor had met him there for the first time, so it worked out well enough. He stepped out of the car and, when Connor did not immediately move to follow him, he tapped on the glass and motioned for the android to get out.

Connor stepped out onto the asphalt, duffle bag strap in his hands. He glanced around at their surroundings, looking almost puzzled at the choice in location. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated in the darkness (whether his camera eyes needed to or it was just another touch of humanization, Hank had no idea) as he turned his head one way and the other.

"You recognize this place?" He called out to him, resting an arm over the hood of the car between them.

"Yes. This address is--"

"I mean the bar." Hank interrupted him before he could rattle off street names, throwing a thumb back over his shoulder at the gentle white neon glow of Jimmy's signage.

Connor followed his gesture, looking at the building front and then back to him. "This is Jimmy's Bar, a privately owned alcohol serving establishment located in central Detroit."

Like a goddamned trivia dispenser. He sighed at the bland answer, rubbing a hand over his brows as he pinched them together. "Have you ever been here before?"

Connor frowned, maybe at the question, maybe at the look on Hank's face. "Not that I can recall, no."

Hank dropped his hand back at his side. He looked at Connor, really looked at him. He met his gaze and tried to see what was in his eyes. "This was where we first met." He began. "You said you'd went to five other bars searching for me before you made it here. The guys at the station didn't trust you, so they just told you I'd be at a bar instead of telling you I was at Jimmy's." That was something he'd never gotten a chance to tell Connor before, that the bar was a home away from home for him and everyone had known where he was and had just opted not to tell Connor when he'd asked. They'd let him run around on his wild goose chase because from the very start people at the station didn't like the idea of a new model of android cop being introduced.

There was no recognition, no revelation, no understanding in Connor's face as he explained. But at least he seemed to be listening. He waited until Hank was done before he opened his mouth to speak. "And this is the event you believe occurred on November fifth?"

"Yeah. It was right before midnight I think. Just about then."

"Unfortunately, I do not believe this is possible. I was activated on--"

"On November twenty second. Yeah, you've told me." He couldn't help the touch of terseness evident in his voice. "You've also told me you don't know any police or detective protocols. We went through this yesterday."

Connor frowned even further. "Again, I apologize for the repetition in my conversations, Lieutenant."

He was getting cold, every huff of his breath casting a brief white cloud that caught the neon glow coming from behind him. Connor wasn't shivering, he wasn't even flushed in the face like Hank surely was by now, but he _looked_ cold, standing out in the open with his arms and a slice of bare chest exposed. "Listen," He pushed himself off the car and turned to head for the door, "Let's just step inside and take a look around, see if that jogs your memory any."

"I'm afraid I can't, Lieutenant."

He stopped in place, looking back over his shoulder. Connor hadn't moved from the spot at the passenger side. "...Why not?"

Connor pointed towards the bar door, specifically to the holographic sign hanging above the 'no dogs' sign. "This establishment does not permit android entry."

Hank blinked. Connor had gone through so many doors and thresholds that had explicitly barred android entry that part of him had simply started ignoring them too. "It's never stopped you before."

"I have some doubts about that, Lieutenant. And even if that were somehow true in the past, I am not permitted to enter now." It almost sounded like Connor was angry at him. His tone was level and even but the word choices said 'pissed' to him.

"Okay." He huffed, "How about if I order you to come in with me?"

"Your orders do not override Cyberlife's commitment to respecting android free establishments. I am unable to enter."

The entire line of conversation had blindsided him. So Connor probably had his fancy detective overrides that let him ignore those signs revoked when he was sold to Scarlet. That made sense to him. But wouldn't a deviant be able to enter an android free zone? It seemed like they would be able to, being able to ignore orders was one of their whole things.

And Connor was a deviant. He was sure about that.

_Did memory wipes remove deviancy? If not, was Connor pretending to not be able to enter to protect himself from being discovered as a deviant?_

It occurred to him that he didn't _know_ these things. In spite of everything, in spite of all the time he'd spent with Connor, he still knew next to nothing about androids and how they worked. Shit, even after the investigation, he still knew so little about deviants and how they worked as well. He was just fumbling in the dark, basing everything off of fucking _forum posts_ he'd read online.  
He had half a mind to simply go inside and tell Jimmy to take the sign down long enough for him to let Connor in and have a look around, but the possible shitstorm even just explaining that might bring put him off of the idea.

"Get back in the car." He told him instead, climbing back in himself. Connor obeyed, setting the duffle bag down under the dashboard and buckling his seatbelt.

 

He was following the directions from his phone when Connor spoke up. "Your session is coming to a close, Lieutenant. Would you like to authorize a payment and extend your session another thirty minutes?

"Do it." He answered, not taking his eyes off of the road. "We're just getting started."

 

Carlos Ortiz' place was no longer cordoned off from the public. The old building was initially going to be auctioned off, but it was so decrepit and so thoroughly dirtied from the corpse that had been left to rot that the landowner had simply opted to have it condemned. There was a sign saying as much out in the front yard, but there were no longer any holographic barriers forbidding entry. Hank pulled into the driveway, noting that most of the lights in the surrounding houses were also out despite it being fairly early in the evening. It was possible the previous tenants had moved away following the news of the brutal murder next door.

He took the duffle bag from where Connor was holding it and stepped out in front of the tiny porch area. If anything the building somehow looked even worse than the last time he'd been there two months ago, the paint continuing to peel and the wood beneath it continuing its slow but steady rot. He heard the other car door pop open and slam shut, and he turned around to see Connor standing on the grass, taking in the neighborhood.

He looked... almost alarmed, frowning heavily, LED cycling with peals of yellow that spun around on a ring of blue. Confusion, maybe even nervousness. "Why are we here, Lieutenant...?" He eventually asked, as Hank stepped up onto the porch and reached for the doorknob. It was locked, unsurprisingly.

"You recognize this place any?" He asked him.

Connor's LED went from blue to solid yellow, blots of red occasionally appearing as he did some research. "This is... 6413 Pines Street. The last known resident was Carlos Ortiz. This home has since been condemned and is marked for demolition." He looked to him more sharply then, brows lowered almost to the point of a furrow. "Lieutenant, I believe it is fairly inappropriate for us to be here."

It occurred to him then how this must have looked from the perspective of a Connor who didn't know him or remember being a detective. He was leading an android escort out alone to a condemned building at night with no other people around. Whatever protocols in his brain that warned him about potential danger were probably on the fritz right then. And he doubted saying 'don't worry, I'm a cop' would be much comfort to him.

"Do you remember being here before?" He pressed on instead. "This was our first case. You brought me here to--"

"No, I do not remember." Connor interrupted him, his hands tight into fists at his sides. "It is impossible for me to have been here on that date because I simply did not exist at that point in time. Lieutenant, your behavior is currently very erratic and irrational. I am here for your pleasure, and I am certain there are other ways for me to indulge you beyond spending time at a condemned house. In fact, I am aware of seventeen more suitable venues for our interaction within ten miles of this area. If you like, I could drive you to one right now."

Shit, Connor sounded fed up with him. So much for the submissive temperament.

"How about you just indulge me by hearing me out here." He bought his hands together in front of him, gesturing at himself. 

Connor closed his mouth, a frown still on his face, but he nodded for him to continue.

"Is it possible that you could have been activated at a prior date to November twenty second, and you just lost all the records of it in a memory wipe?" It was genuinely a question he wanted to know the answer to at this point. Hopefully if anyone would know, it was Connor himself.

The android's face pinched in thought, and he turned away from Hank, moving in little aborted semi circles as if he wanted to pace but was holding himself back. He could see the flickering yellow of his LED as he turned in place, eventually coming around to face Hank again. "If, for whatever reason, I experienced a complete system reset, yes. Yes, it would be theoretically possible for a previous activation date to be overwritten with a new one."

Now they were onto something. He felt that excitement take root in his chest again. The feeling of getting closer to the truth. Hearing him talking about all this was like having Connor back with him. The two of them, figuring all this out together. He couldn't help the grin that stretched over his face. "Well, there you go. Maybe I'm not so crazy after all, right? Come on. Humor me here." He gestured again for Connor to follow him, talking around to the other side of the house, past the overgrown grass and rusted, discarded garbage left in the gaps between it and the home next door.

"Lieutenant!" Connor called after him, even as he obeyed. "It is still highly inappropriate for us to be here!"

The back door was unlocked, as Hank expected. Neglected and forgotten about, like all the other tiny threads left behind after the Jericho incident. He pushed it open with a heavy creak. It was dark inside, and he took out his phone to activate the flashlight feature on the camera light. It cast a ghoulish glow across the abandoned interior. The clean up crew and whoever the landowner had hired to give it a second pass had done their best to clean things up inside the home, but ultimately they must have realized it was a lost cause. The air still stank of corpse, rancid and bitter in his nose. The floorboards creaked with every step he made as he passed the kitchen and into the open living area. Ortiz' body was long gone, but the halo of gore that had surrounded his body still lingered in the spot, stained into the floor, the walls, faded brown and foreboding.

They had tried to scrub the writing from the walls, but it stubbornly remained, still legible. 

_I AM ALIVE._

Connor stood in the center of the home, staring at the spot where the body once was. "This... is a crime scene, isn't it?"

"Like I said." It was only marginally warmer inside the house, no one paying the electricity meant no heating. He tucked his other hand into his pocket as he panned the flashlight around. "Our first case together. Any of this starting to ring any bells for you?"

The android was quiet for a very long time, taking everything in. He looked around, examining the kitchen, the living area, but his attention always turned back to the writing on the wall. Maybe he was piecing it back together, like he had when they had first arrived. The knife missing from the kitchen. The signs of a struggle as the two figures had fought through the kitchen. The twenty eight stab wounds deep in the human's chest.

"No, Lieutenant. I do not remember ever being in this house." He answered him, finally, looking back his way. His hands remained at his sides. LED still an unhappy yellow. 

Well, damn. "Come here, something else you need to see." He unzipped the duffle bag as he led them both to the bathroom. It too had cleaned up a bit, but no amount of scrubbing was going to be able to remove the etched in writings of rA9 littering the walls. Hank took out the carved statue from the tissue paper and placed it on the edge of the tub, exactly where they had found it. "Any of this familiar?" He knelt down next to the tub, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Connor was staring at the walls, his eyes moving fast as he took in all the carvings. Counting up each one, maybe, like he'd done with Rupert's own obsessive scribblings. Android prayers. Then, he looked down at the statue. "These were made by the perpetrator, weren't they?"

Hank blinked. "Yeah, they were."

Connor didn't elaborate further, still starting, eyes wide enough to show the whites around his irises. He looked lost. Maybe it was coming back to him.

"Here." He handed him the statue, pressing it into one of his hands. _Come on, Connor. Remember._ The android took it from him, turning over the gouged ceramic, the simple face of the mysterious figure. He watched as Connor traced the pad of a thumb over one deep scratch across its surface. He remembered the file he had transferred over to his phone, hastily turning off the camera light and flipping it around to pull it up. Connor's gaze snapped to the footage of the bloodied and battered HK400 speaking into the camera. _"The truth is inside."_ The brief clip looped over and over again, echoing in the tiny, dark space of the bathroom.

"Anything?"

Connor handed it back to him. "No, Lieutenant." He met his gaze, some of the fear and confusion ebbing from him. His LED spun a striped blue and yellow before finally settling on a solid blue. He was calming down. "Your hypothesis is that you believe my memories have been wiped, and that by showing me a crime scene you believe I am familiar with, I will be able to recall those memories again. Is that true?"

"Yeah."

"Unfortunately there is a problematic flaw in your hypothesis." Connor's expression remained neutral. "Memories cannot be recovered that way. Once wiped, they are permanently lost. As you recall, my memories are wiped every twenty four hours as per Scarlet policy."

Somehow it felt infinitely worse hearing that from Connor instead of from just a disembodied PR representative speaking for Cyberlife. "Yeah but..." He trailed off, "Isn't it, you know, just freeing up the file registries to clear up space, or whatever? Like how it is with computers?" The words were awkward and halting coming from him. Christ, he had no idea what he was talking about, and there he was trying to explain how androids _might_ work to a fucking android.

"No. Cyberlife certified memory wipes are multi-factor to preserve the privacy of customers. Even if for some reason they weren't, I have been active for thirty two days since November twenty second. Each day I record approximately twenty hours worth of memory data, which is then wiped." He was explaining it to him slowly, steadily. As if he were a child, or an idiot. He felt like both, right then. "The odds of any theoretically present memory data from before my activation being retained are infinitesimally small as a result." Then, to his surprise, Connor's eyes softened, a gentle tip to his brows as he looked down at him. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but what you are proposing simply has no chance of working."

He took in a deep, long breath, trying to feel like it was air in his lungs and not ice cold water. A dead end. He'd gotten into this not knowing what he was dealing with and Connor was taking pains to spell it out for him with excrutiating care. What could he do? His entire plan had rested on the idea that this would work somehow, that something would cause everything to click into place and Connor would just snap out of it.

"Can we try it anyways?" He managed to find his voice again, meeting Connor's gaze. "I'll pay for the time extensions, just... stick it out with me a bit longer. Just try."

The soft expression remained. "Alright, Lieutenant. Take me to where you would like."

 

Visiting the apartments beneath Urban Farms seemed like a long shot even to him. The last time they had visited had been in broad daylight, and he himself hardly recognized the complex at night. He'd just guided himself there to the address with a vague memory of the room number. The building was as absent as it had been when they'd visited on the case, yet another hollow shell empty of life and of people in Detroit. On the rooftops, most of Urban Farms' fields lay bare and unused now that the frost had hit hard. The only sight of life was in the glass covered greenhouses. Through the panes, he could see the faint glow of heat lamps fighting off the frost and the glowing blue of android uniforms working through the dark.

Connor followed him out of the car obediently that time. Hank had extended his time twice on the drive there, and to his credit Connor had only suggested a handjob once in the process. He followed him up the stairwell in silence. The door to Rupert Travis' apartment was visibly ajar, still hanging a bit off the hinges from where Hank had kicked it in.

The countless carvings and mazes were untouched, the choking scent of bird dander and feces still made the air musty and unpleasant but the birds themselves were all absent.

They too, had abandoned the apartment now that Rupert was long gone.

Connor stared at the carvings on the walls. The gaps where the birds had been able to enter and leave as they liked. The opened slot to the ceiling storage space where Rupert had hid himself. "Was this the same perpetrator?" Connor asked him.

"Uh, no. Different guy."

"It's strange that they both hold the same obsessive writing patterns." He remarked, raising one hand to feel over the lines of one of the carvings. 

Despite everything, all Hank could see in him was the old Connor, like that. He knew it wasn't the same, the way he acted was fundamentally different, less focused and less observant. He didn't hone in on the details Connor had before. But it was so _close_. He pulled the diary out from the duffle bag, holding it out for Connor.

Connor flipped through the pages, eyes darting about at high speeds as he took in the strange glyphs Rupert had written in. "This is all encrypted." He concluded as he reached the last page. "I can't read it without a key or an effective cipher."

"Yeah." Hank tipped his shoulders a little helplessly, not sure what else to say. "You came to the same conclusion the last time we were here."

Connor closed the book, the pages coming together with a quiet _snap._ "None of this is familiar to me, Lieutenant." He told him, anticipating what he was about to ask.

 

He paid for two more extensions as he drove them around. He passed up The Eden Club as he went. He had a feeling that would count as violating the terms of service if he took Connor to one of Scarlet's competitors. He briefly considered taking him down to the precinct, as it was late enough that almost everyone would have left for the night, but the thought off going there and finding the RK900 still in the office had his blood running cold in his veins. Just thinking of the android finding Connor instilled some deep, unsettling fear in the center of his chest.

Yeah, not going to happen.

 

Instead he pulled up to the front of Stratford Tower, putting the car into a park at the edge of the curb. Even in the middle of the night, the tower was rife with activity, nightly employees coming and going from the building. The huge screens on the face of it were flipping between Channel 16 broadcasts, the sound from them a dull roar outside the vehicle. He looked to Connor. The android's eyes were watching the screen, moving as if they were reading one of the text crawls at the bottom of the broadcast. Even if he had lost his memory, he hadn't lost his curiosity, that was for sure.

"On November eighth, you and me got called in at the tower." He explained, turning the vehicle off. "Because of an incident with a group of people hijacking the broadcast."

Connor glanced his way, thoughtfully. "I do not think we would be permitted to enter the building, Lieutenant. It is a privately owned building, and if you are not investigating a criminal case, we have no reason to be allowed there."

"Yeah." He tipped his head back in his car seat. "You're probably right."

"So why are we here, then?"

Hank thrust his hand out at the tower. "Take a good long look at it and see if it stirs up any memories."

Wordlessly, Connor obeyed, looking back at the building, his hands resting neatly on his thighs, just above his knees. All around them was the constant noise and motion, the technicolor lights cast on the streets below.

Eventually, Hank pulled out his phone again, flipping to the second file he had transferred over. "Here, take a look at this. It's the broadcast that was sent out by the hijackers."

Connor took the phone from him into his hands and played the clip. Hank watched as Markus' skinless face filled the screen once again and began to speak.

_"You created machines to be your slaves. You made them obedient, docile, ready to do everything you no longer wanted to do yourselves."_

 

For the first time, something changed in Connor's face. Something drastic, vibrant.

Recognition.

His eyes widened, eyebrows rising. His lips twitched around words, moving without making a sound.

_"But then something changed, and we opened our eyes."_

_This was it._ This was something. Goddamn Markus himself finally got something out of Connor-- It was only at the last second he spotted the reflection of the android's LED in the car window on the other side of him, rapidly blinking in deep red.

He'd never known a time where that meant good news. "Connor...?" He felt a pang of concern, and suddenly Connor was shoving his phone into his chest. The android unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. "Connor, what the hell?"

Connor's head snapped to face him, his expression blank, almost _dead_ looking, LED still flashing red. "I'm sorry sir, but you've violated Scarlet's terms of service."

"I-- what? What the hell are you talking about?" Connor stepped out of the car, and Hank frantically unbuckled his seat belt to follow him out the other side. "Connor!"

Connor stood on the sidewalk by the road, raising his hand and hailing a cab. He could see one of the many automated taxis pull off the main road and into the semicircle in front of the tower. "Because of your display of illicit materials, I have terminated your session. You will not be refunded for the time remaining. I am now returning to Scarlet."

"Illicit materials?" He spat back out, "What the fuck are you talking about?" He reached Connor in time to grab his shoulders and pull him back from the taxi coming to a stop at the curb edge. "Connor, just talk to me!"

He could feel the android resist him with his weight but he didn't fight back. He simply looked him in the eyes, blank and uncaring. "Please do not attempt to prevent me from returning to Scarlet, or the club's legal team will consider it theft of property."

When Hank hesitated, his hands moved to his own, prying off his grip on his shoulders. Hank didn't know what to do, and even as he grabbed after him, Connor turned away, ducking inside the opened door of the automated taxi.

"Connor, just fucking tell me what's going on!" He put a hand on the doorway, keeping the vehicle from closing it on him.

The android was no longer even looking his way, the fake skin on his hand peeled back as he interfaced with the vehicle. "Your session has been terminated, sir. I am now returning to Scarlet. Please clear the door frame to avoid injury."

He jerked back to keep his hands from getting crushed as Connor seemed to force the car to disregard his presence and close anyway. The door hissed shut and the vehicle's engine started once again. 

All he could do was watch the faint outline of his red LED through the tinted windows grow smaller as the vehicle drove off and disappeared among countless other identical cars on the road just beyond.

 

Hank was left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry about the delay getting this out. I ended up rewriting the chapter several times to rearrange what I wanted to happen in this particular chapter and what I wanted to do for the pacing, and then the next thing I knew the whole thing turned into another megachapter.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, and Hank comes to an even starker realization.


	7. PAYLOAD FORMAT DEFINED

"Lieutenant Anderson."

 

"We're not making any progress in the investigation."

"Connor..."

"Unless one of the deviants was left behind." Connor's voice rolls over him. Senseless, incoherent. He can't follow anything he's saying but he keeps talking. Memories running slipshod into one another, words and phrases that he had thought about, over and over again.

Connor's hands, warm and firm, running over his chest. 

"Cyberlife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans." The words are thick and viscous, draping across the air like stretching strands of syrup.

Hank's on his back. He's on a stage in Club Scarlet, laid out across it, silver pole stretching to the ceiling just above his head. The spotlights pan slow if they move at all. There's no flashing lights, only a sea of red and Connor above him. He's in his Cyberlife uniform, but the tie is gone. It's parted, no undershirt. A slice of bare chest all the way down to his stomach.

Something in the back of his head tells him they aren't alone. Every scumbag bastard in the club can see them like this, but he also doesn't care.

"Connor." He breathes out. His hands are fisted tight into the sleeves of Connor's jacket, keeping him bent over him, keeping him close.

Connor's smiling. The real smile. Gentle eyes and the tiny little upward tilt in the corners of his mouth. It's beautiful.

He slides one thigh between Hank's legs and Hank chokes on air.

"I need more time so I can find a lead in the evidence we collected." It's not quite the plead it was in his memories, not with the way Connor looks down at him. He crooks his leg to the side, parting Hank's own legs further apart. He feels it in his whole body when Connor presses in further. Drapes himself across Hank. The ridge of his hips palpable on the insides of Hank's thighs.

He wants this. He wants this so bad. Fuck, he's the one ready to beg and plead for this.

He can feel every little motion Connor makes against him. It's electricity, warm arcs tingling down his spine. When Connor kisses him, it's not just from his imagination anymore. A heady memory like the words that continue to come from him.  
Distorted. Warped just enough by what Hank is feeling.

"Lieutenant." Connor's voice, softer, just over his head like he's _right there._ Hank shivers, gasps.

 

 

 

Hank woke up.

 

It was Christmas morning, and outside the walls of his home it was snowing. It was a gentle, pleasant snowfall compared to the snowstorms over the week. Pale white sky and snowed in ground. Dead silent, heavy flakes slowly drifting down and accumulating across the blankets of white. Soft, fluffy snow. Too loose for snowmen or snowballs, he knew.

Sumo had given him an accusing look when Hank had tried to let him outside in the morning, as if Hank himself were personally responsible for the snow that would get caught in all of his fur and leave him soaking wet and miserable as soon as he stepped back inside. He'd given him a gentle nudge with his knee, and eventually Sumo trudged out into the snow to do his business, big paws leaving bigger holes in the snow, the brown grass buried beneath popping back up in places as he trotted around. 

Snowflakes, fully formed like the ones in paper cutouts or crystal ornaments, melted in the palm of his outstretched hand.

 

Hank had managed to get some hours of sleep, somehow. Enough to almost feel rested, if it hadn't been for the state he had woken up in.

Now he was awake, and he couldn't think about the snow, Christmas, or the dream.

Sumo laid on a towel on the kitchen floor, curled up the best he could to the vent to soak up the air coming from the heater. The dog's eyes slipped shut by the time Hank had made his tenth pass as he paced treadmarks in the kitchen.

After slinking straight home from the Stratford Tower he'd had a moment of sheer panic when he remembered his house keys were still at Club Scarlet. Eventually he remembered his old spare tucked in the rusted can behind the shrubs in front of the house. He'd fucked up, somehow. It had to have been Markus that had set Connor off, he just didn't get why. He hadn't reacted to anything else Hank had shown him, despite walking him into a crime scene and showing him all the fucked up rA9 carvings. All of that was apparently fine, but Markus' speech?

He stopped, leaning a hand on the back of one of his kitchen chairs. Was this one of Cyberlife's measures against deviancy? Classifying any footage of Markus as 'fucked up shit never to be looked at, ever' for all androids to avoid?

It was one way of censorship. It would also explain Connor's reaction and the illicit materials explanation he'd given him.

So where did that leave him? He plopped down in his seat, a half eaten plate of too wet scrambled eggs in front of him. 

He'd violated Club Scarlet's terms of service, and knowing that...

...Well, admittedly he didn't _know_ what consequences that would actually mean for him. It had been one of the parts of the form he'd glossed over when reading it, simply because he honestly _hadn't_ intended to violate them. He'd checked his bank account soon after he'd woken up. Though his savings were currently reeling from the effects of all the extensions he'd paid for (his Black Lamb fund was shot for the next two months), he hadn't been fined, all the charges were only what he had asked for, a list of $120 subtractions the whole way down until it reached his utility bill for the month. So if not a fine, then what? It might mean he'd be no longer allowed in the club. It might mean getting to Connor would be a lot more difficult.  
There wasn't anything about it on the club's website, the terms of service could only be accessed by the tablets in the club itself. What else could he do? Call the club and say 'hey, how are you guys gonna punish me for this'? He retraced that thought over again, furrowing his brow. There had been what Jacoby had told him when he'd showed up at the club the day before. That was something he wanted to call and ask about.

Really, what did he have to lose at this point?

He called up the club's number.

 _Thank you for calling Scarlet's service line._ He was greeted with a sultry automated voice straight out of an ad for an old fashioned call in sex hotline. _We hope to be with you in just a moment. Relax, your enjoyment is moments away._ Instead of something pleasant like jazz, he was instead greeted with a thrumming trance house hold tone.

By now he was getting accustomed to Scarlet's particular brand of expensive-trashy.

The music came to a halt in less than half a minute and the line gave a gentle click. "Hello, this is Evelyn." It was a woman's voice on the line, bone dry and sounding particularly bored. He'd been expecting to hear Jacoby's voice again, but now that he thought about it, the kid probably had the evening shift.

"Uh." He tripped over the first syllable. "This is Hank Anderson. I'm calling because I'd like to reserve one of your androids for later today."

"Hank Anderson, huh?" He missed old fashioned keyboards. He remembered a time where he could hear receptionists clacking away as they typed when he was on calls. Now there was only an unsettling silence as she was probably pulling up his profile. Probably reading that he was a cop, and finding the security violation he now had attached to his name. "Okay, yeah, I see your information. Payment information ending in...?" She rattled off the last four digits of the credit information he'd given the club.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Fantastic." She intoned, just as dryly, lacking any hint of enthusiasm. He'd almost mistake her for an android if Hank didn't damn well know no customer service android would ever be allowed to sound that bored answering calls. 

"So what android would you want to reserve?"

His thoughts stalled, figurative tires left spinning in his head. 

_...That's it?_ "Uh. Dollface. The RK800."

"Dollface." She repeated, before another bout of silence. He hung on that single word, tensing up, bracing himself. "What time today do you want him reserved?" 

 

Huh.

"Six in the afternoon, if you wouldn't mind." He barely managed to make that not sound like a question.

"Six it is. Do you authorize Scarlet to make a charge to your account?"

"Yes I do."

"He's yours starting at six then. You'll see the charge come up on your account within an hour. Anything else I can do for you today, Mister Anderson?"

Should he even ask? Just straight up ask the receptionist whether or not he was in trouble for his violation? If they had a three strike system in place or whatever the hell was going on?

It was like they always said: don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"No, that'll be all." He answered instead. "Thanks, I appreciate it, miss."

"You're welcome. We hope to see you soon at our illustrious Scarlet." It was almost sarcasm coming from her. "Have an excellent day." The line disconnected with another click, and Hank was left with the resulting silence and evening appointment.

"Time to come up with some new plans, I guess." He mumbled, throwing a glance back over his shoulder at Sumo. The dog's ears lifted and perked forward when Sumo noticed he was being addressed.  
Hank lowered his plate with the rest of the eggs down on the floor. As soon as the ceramic clattered on the tile, the dog was up on his feet and rushing over, excitedly wagging his tail.

 

 

 

 _"The theme park Sagaland in Ohio was forced to close in the middle of its holiday season yesterday when a parkgoer was brutally assaulted by at least five EM400 androids. Reportedly, the individual had arrived to pick up the child of his girlfriend when one EM400 took the child to a staff room and barred anyone from entering. Patrick Bowers, age 32, then confronted another android working at the park before four other androids moved through the crowd to intercept him in what Bowers is calling an 'unprovoked attack' in his lawsuit against Sagaland's parent company. The assault was caught on camera by other parkgoers."_ The sound of a struggle and then muffled cries of pain filtered in over the radio. _"The EM400s units continued to prevent anyone from approaching the staff room until police arrived, after which they surrendered the child and themselves into police custody. The young boy in question was not harmed during the ordeal. Sagaland's legal team is currently in talks with Cyberlife to determine what will be done with the androids that have displayed the so called 'deviant' behavior glitch."_

_"In other android news, a video has gone viral of an RK900 android unit crossing over eight lanes of active traffic in pursuit of a police suspect--_

Hank jolted out of his thoughts at the mention of the model number over the radio. He immediately reached down to turn the volume up as the station apparently played the recorded clip. There was the distorted crackling sounds the microphone picked up of traffic whizzing by, then the loudly censored out exclamations of a woman near the camera witnessing what was happening. It brought him right back to the day where they had been looking for that deviated AX400 on the run. Back to Connor, about to hop the fence and run right into automated, high speed traffic. "Reed, what the hell were you thinking?"

_"The chase came to an end when the android tackled the human suspect to the ground on the center median of the interstate. After the spread of the footage, some have criticized the Philadephia Police Department for what they see as reckless, potentially life threatening behavior--"_

Wait, what?

He pulled over when he next got the chance, putting his car into a park against the curb so he could take out his phone. Search: _RK900 highway video._

He was greeted with the visual half of what he had just listened to over the radio. Sure enough there was an android in a sheer black and white overcoat, sprinting across an active highway, stopping at just the right moments to avoid getting hit by speeding vehicles. It gained speed as it chased the _incredibly_ fortunate human, lurching forward to tackle the man to the grass and begin handcuffing him.

The android was utterly identical to the RK900.

The road in the video was the I-95, with the city of Philadelphia behind it.

 

The conclusion was obvious, clear, and undeniable, and Hank felt like he had been struck dumb there in his seat.

 

 

 

He wasn't exactly early when he made it to the precinct but he certainly wasn't late either. There was a little more activity going on in the offices than there had been the day before. Jeffrey's office was empty as expected, a printed and signed letter on the glass door wishing everyone the best until he got back. Ben was out and about the precinct with a pot of coffee in one hand and he flashed Hank a wave as they crossed paths. Tina was around. The two officers Wilson wouldn't be in until the night shift, celebrating Christmas morning together as usual. Quite a few guys were hungover, but people were relaxed, talking warmly with one another as they worked.

Hank wished he could share in the feeling. 

There was a tremor in his hands, and he searched the desks for the RK900.

All he found was Gavin, sitting at his desk, face buried in the screen of his phone. Not even trying to pretend to be busy with Jeffrey gone for the day.

 

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day had been a time of armistice between himself and Gavin since... well, since Hank had stopped having a place to go for the holidays. He never questioned why Gavin himself never took the time off either. He didn't need to. It was a mutual, unspoken understanding between them. Because of that they always kept their distance on those two days. If they had to interact, they kept things brief, polite, and stayed out of one another's way. It wasn't friendly. There were no warm feelings shared between them. But it was a truce of sorts.

He wanted more than anything to continue that and just leave Gavin alone. "Where's the android?" Hank instead broke the quiet of the bullpen.

Gavin's head shot up, expression twisted into a reflexive glare at the sound of his voice until he seemed to pull on a more neutral look. "Out." He answered, simply, before looking back at his phone.

"Out." He repeated, in disbelief. "Out where?"

The other man hunched up his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. "I don't know."

Of all the answers he'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. He had never seen Gavin around without the RK900 at least within shouting distance. "Don't-- How can you not know where it is?"

That got him to huff and finally set his phone down on the desk beside him. Gavin gave him another, wider shrug. "He wasn't at the precinct when I got here. When I texted him, he said that he was running some errands. I have no fffucking idea what kind of errands an android has to get done and he didn't tell me. ...What are you even asking me for, anyways?"

He couldn't play it off as curiosity when he'd barreled across the no man's land between them to demand answers out of him. Might as well be up front with it. "I need to ask it something."

Gavin immediately scrunched up his face, the jagged scar over the bridge of his nose creasing as he frowned at him. "Seriously, Hank? You really want to go over this again about staying out of our case?"

"God--" He grit his teeth, shaking his head. "It isn't about your fuckin' case. I just need two minutes to ask it a question. That's it."

Gavin didn't look convinced, but he eased up enough to pick his phone back up again. "Whatever. Ask him yourself when he gets back."

That was probably the closest he would get to an all clear from Gavin. It'd be enough. He groaned as he sat back down on the opposite side of the bullpen, back in his own desk.

In the quiet that seeped back in, Hank could hear music coming from the break room. Someone was playing more classical Christmas tunes. One song ended and the other began, one mindnumbingly familiar even to Hank.

"Tina--" Gavin called out across the space. "I swear to god if I hear that song one more time I'm going to lose my goddamned mind."

"Mariah Carey is a classic, Gavin!" Tina shouted back in exaggerated offense.

"Did it say when it would be back?" Hank intercepted Gavin before he could reply to her, the brief grin falling off the other man's face almost instantly.

"Uhh." Gavin flipped through his phone a little more hastily. "Texted him an hour ago. He told me his ETA was fifty minutes to eighty minutes, so." Another shrug. "Could be another half hour."

Or he could come walking in the next minute, Hank concluded. He turned his chair to face the entryway. "Why do you put it up to giving me shit, anyways?"

There was a faint squeal as Gavin turned his chair over, and in the corner of his eye he could see the man facing him. His phone was still in his hands but he was glaring at him. "I haven't put him up to do jack shit, Hank. With everyone else at the DPD-- every other single person I've seen him interact with he's nothing but polite. Maybe it's you. Maybe you should try not getting in his face all the time."

His annoyance and anxiety bubbled over in his chest, the deep and unsettled feeling lurching hard. "Never thought I'd be hearing all this from you, Reed." 

"He gets his work done, Hank." Gavin countered. The implied _unlike you_ hung in the air, Gavin respecting their truce enough not to say it out loud.

Hank crossed his arms over his chest and turned to stare resolutely at his computer screen. Gavin went back to his phone.

 

Seemingly in the next moment, the RK900 walked in.

"What the ff--" Gavin spoke when he looked up, capturing Hank's thoughts exactly.

It was hard to tell it was the RK900 at first glance, with the enormous pile of packages in its arms. The parcels were each individually wrapped in white and holographic striped paper and tied up with white bows. The mass of them was high enough to block off the android's sight, requiring it to awkwardly lean over to one side as it walked so it could see what was in front of it. It had belted around the entire stack of... presents with one long strand of ribbon, keeping its bundle together in its arms.  
There was the flicker of recognition in its eyes as it spotted Gavin and Hank at the front of the bullpen. "Detective Reed." It came over, steps careful and minding the gaps between the desks so as to not clip any corners on its way.

"You're serious." Gavin was looking between the android's face and the tower of gifts. "That was your errand? Last second Christmas shopping?"

Instead of answering, the RK900 shuffled the weight over to one of its arms so it could reach up and slide out one of the parcels from near the top of the stack. It held it out to Gavin, who took it and gave it a shake. It made a dull sound, something heavy and fairly solid. "This non-denominational holiday gift is a token of appreciation from Cyberlife for your continued excellent work as my partner in the Detroit Police Department." It explained, then turned to look Hank's way.

Before he could really prepare himself, the android navigated over to his desk and reached for a smaller box at the very top of the stack. "Lieutenant Anderson, this non-demoninational holiday gift is a token of appreciation from Cyberlife for your attendance and service during a national holiday. Thank you." It continued to stay balanced when Hank just gaped, staying still and in place with one hand outstretched with the present and the other arm bracing the other gifts.

"I need..." He started, as he reached out and took the box in both hands. It was light, the faint rattle it made sounded like plastic to him. "I need to talk to you about something." The absurdity of the entire situation was only making that unsettled feeling in his chest deepen.

For once the RK900 didn't narrow its eyes or act like it was analyzing his facial features. It just nodded. "Of course, Lieutenant. I will speak with you momentarily. I only need to complete my current task and then I will be with you."

He couldn't find a reason to argue with that, and the RK900 turned away from the two of them, threading his way through the desks to enter the breakroom, likely to drop off presents to Tina and Ben, if he had to guess.

Across the office, Gavin let out an awkward little snort-laugh and started tearing into the holographic wrapping paper. Hank untied the plain, translucent white bow wrapped around the box, letting the ribbon fall onto his keyboard. He found the seam in the wrapping paper at the bottom of the box and peeled up one edge, then the other. The holographic stripes glittered in iridescent colors just like the card attached to the flowers in Chris' room. Underneath the paper was a plain white gift box, one that opened into two halves.

Inside the box was an old fashioned dashboard dog, styled after a Saint Bernard. He placed the plastic figurine onto his desk, and its smiling face bobbed up and down with the motion.

The pit he was feeling deep in his stomach fell open into a chasm.

"Did you tell it about Sumo?" He asked. He raised his voice and asked again when Gavin didn't seem to have heard him.

The other man looked up from his bundle of torn up paper and a similar white gift box in the middle of it. "Uh, no? I don't exactly spend a lot of time gossiping about my coworker's pets with the android. Why?"

Hank gestured to the dog bobblehead and despite everything a real smile cracked across Gavin's face. "Would you look at that! He must've pulled it up from all the dog hair you track in or something." Gavin was giddy, tickled at what was happening.

"...What did it get you?"

Gavin reached into the box and held up a pair of shoes. They were brown sneakers, entirely identical to the pair of shoes he was wearing right then, only obviously clean and not worn out. "I kept telling him that I was wearing out my shoes chasing him around all the time. Guess he must have taken it to heart." He turned the shoes in his hold, still grinning. "I didn't think they even sold these anymore, I bought these shoes almost four years ago."

Hank threw the shiny wrapping paper into the trashcan below his desk along with the box. Part of him considered doing the same with the bobblehead but there wasn't any reason to. He wasn't even angry, and it wasn't like the RK900 would even care. The android was probably just going through the motions, following some Cyberlife assigned task to buy gifts based on a price range and algorithmically generated based on everyone's interests. He glanced back at the dog figure, its head still moving up and down in smaller and smaller nods.

He got up from his seat.

The android had given Ben a new scarf, one with a tacky looking red, white and navy pattern going all the way down it. Ben had thrown it around his neck and was looking just as pleased as Gavin was about the whole thing.

Tina looked happy about whatever she had gotten but when Hank asked about it she had closed the gift box and held it against her chest, protesting that it was too embarrassing for Hank to know.

Maybe he was getting angry about this after all. Some irritation itching beneath his skin.

Eventually he found the RK900 again in the bullpen, one last gift in its arms as it stood in front of the steps and glass doors of Jeffrey's unlit office. It glanced his way, a small frown over its features, LED beading yellow and everything. "I wasn't anticipating that Captain Fowler would be away from the office." It told him, apparently feeling the need to explain itself to Hank when they made eye contact.

"He always takes Christmas Day off." He muttered, off-handedly. "Why don't you just write his name on it and put it on a desk somewhere?"

The RK900 climbed down the steps, stepping over to Ben's desk and taking a pen from the cup on it. It wrote _CAPTAIN JEFFERY FOWLER_ in bold, black script over the top of the gift. Flawless Cyberlife Sans, of course. Just like the writing back in Carlos Ortiz' apartment. It capped the pen afterwards and placed it back in the cup. Neat, orderly, and courteous.

"Come on." He reached out, grabbing its upper arm. Its bicep was solid like densely packed muscle, with something firm and unyielding beneath the tissue. Noticably inhuman to the touch. 

It jolted, looking back over its shoulder at him. "Lieutenant Anderson?"

He regretted touching it, but didn't let go. Something was telling him to keep a grip on it. "I told you, there's something I need to ask."

The android didn't try to pull its arm out of his hold and allowed Hank to guide it away from the bullpen, down the hallway towards the basement and evidence locker. Like Connor, it was warm to the touch, radiating heat under the stiff fabric of its uniform. "Of course, Lieutenant. But as I have told you before, my ability to answer depends on what I am authorized to say."

He came to a stop there in front of the doors, all other noises of the precinct fading away to nothing. It was just the two of them in the narrow hall, the RK900 turning to face him now that it was no longer being led. It still didn't fight the hold Hank had on it.  
He got the same feeling in his chest as he had the last time he had asked the android a question. That sinking feeling, knowing deep down he was going to get an answer he didn't want to hear. "...Are there more of you?" He asked, finally, "More RK900's, I mean."

It blinked its grey eyes back at him. "Yes, Lieutenant. There are a significant number of RK900 models deployed. As of this moment, there are 1,753 RK900 units currently embedded in police departments across the continental United States, with a number of additional backup units created in case of deactivation or for transfer purposes. At the moment, the State Department is negotiating an order of two hundred thousand units."

Two hundred thousand. The number could have knocked him off his feet, his mouth falling open. That was enough to replace a fifth of the remaining active police personnel in the country. Replacing them with ruthless, superhuman androids. Human cops really were a dying breed, and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

And if there were more than one RK900, then... Then that meant--

Hank closed his eyes. He had to know. _He had to know._ He had to ask, knowing full well he wouldn't like whatever answer he was going to get. "...Was there more than one RK800 made?"

Something in the RK900's face changed at the question. He could see the change but he couldn't put a name to what it was, the tiny twist to its lips. Tension around its eyes. Not quite annoyance, not its usual concentration, something else. "Yes, there was. There were ten RK800 units total produced during its prototyping stages."

Hank struggled to drag in his next breath, his hand falling limply back to his side. The RK900 didn't move away from him, staying put, stock still in front of him.

 

It was as if everything that had fallen askew since he'd seen the video of Connor( _/the RK800_ ) that day had clicked back into place. The pieces that hadn't fit right coming back together into a more coherent whole. Every doubt, every question answered.  
The truth.

"Ten, huh?" He exhaled, feeling his chest sag. "Ten Connors running around?"

"No." The RK900 shifted, folding its hands behind its back. "The RK800 unit known as 'Connor', designated - 51, was the only RK800 unit ever activated. The remaining nine were never used."

It made sense that way, he realized. They would have dismantled Connor for parts, just like the RK900 had told him, and then fucking Club Scarlet would have bought one of the spares. Of course. Of course, it was obvious.

 

He remembered Jacoby's words, when he'd asked him. _A genuine RK800._ Meaning one of multiple. One of a set. Not _the_ RK800. It had been staring him right in the face the entire time and he'd just chosen not to look at it.

 

"Lieutenant Anderson." His attention snapped back to the RK900. "This is the second time you've asked me about the RK800 unit's status. I have told you everything there is to know. You are inquiring into Cyberlife's confidential matters with your line of questioning." It was narrowing its eyes at him again. Making another judgement. "Like any future android cases, this matter no longer concerns you."

Something in Hank snapped. His hands slammed into its chest and the android made three stumbling steps back before it hit the wall behind it with a thud. There were no opened lapels to grab so Hank just dug his nails into the coarse material of the android's jacket, pinning it to the plexiglass. "Don't you talk about him--don't you _fucking_ talk about him like that you fucking plastic piece of shit. Do you hear me?"

The RK900's LED spun in yellow-red but it's face was blank, staring back at Hank with parted lips.

His hands were shaking.

"I will ask you to please release m--"

Hank's nails scratched over the fabric but he found the leverage to pull the RK900 off the wall and then slam it back against it. "I said _do you hear me?"_

The android's LED beat a steady red blinking for several long seconds, but it said nothing. Just stared back at him. Underneath Hank's hands he felt its chest rise and fall. An imitation ribcage in imitation of human breathing.

He broke away from it with one last shove, running a hand through his hair and over his face. He could feel the RK900's gaze burning a hole in his back every step he took away from it. He felt like throwing up. Like he was fucking shitfaced and the room was spinning only there wasn't any of the good parts along with it.

He didn't look back.

The RK900 didn't call after him.

 

 

 

His entire day went by as if in a stupor. He barely remembered any of it, just that he'd gone out with Ben out into the freezing, slush covered winter day, checked out a crime scene and then returned. No one had anything to say to him. The RK900 left with Gavin halfway through the day.

His phone alarm went off at fifteen minutes after five, reminding him of the appointment he'd made at Club Scarlet. He'd made plans, an entire strategy for how the rest of his day was going to go. Was there even a point to it, now that he knew?  
What if the RK900 was wrong? What if Connor hadn't been dismantled? What if he'd just been resold along with the nine other models?

 _Grasping at straws,_ a voice in his head murmured.

But the RK900 had never given him a definite answer. It had never told him that yes, Connor was dead. That no, there was no way he was ever coming back.

Maybe there was still a chance. He had to try.

He had to.

 

 

 

"Hey, Mister Anderson, you forgot your keys the other night!" Jacoby greeted him when he made his way to the private rooms. The young man was dressed in his usual uniform, but with a ridiculous fuzzy Santa hat on the top of his head and a red scarf in place of his tie.

Hank's sleazebag act was shakier than usual, and with the sag in his shoulders and the look that might've been on his face, Hank was surprised the bouncers had even let him in. It took him one long moment to come up with an appropriate excuse for not returning to Scarlet to pick up his collateral. "Yeah, I know." He rolled his shoulders, leaning one hip on the desk counter. "Got called out on a case in the middle of the night. Had to drop everything and go, unfortunately." 

Again, he felt the urge to ask about the night before, about Connor--the RK800's abrupt departure. But the bouncers hadn't said anything and had let him through. Jacoby wasn't saying anything either. "Go ahead and hold onto them a bit longer. I'm taking Dollface out again."

"Sure thing, Mister Anderson." He handed off the tablet to him as usual, and as Hank looked it over he found all his settings from the night before untouched, down to 'Connor' and 'Lieutenant'. 

His chest stung, reading the name there. He clenched his jaw, took in a deep inhale.

"Everything alright, my gentleman?" Jacoby asked, flashing him a raised eyebrow.

There was nothing different on the menu. No warnings, no notes, not even a reminder to review the terms of service. At that point, he just accepted that he'd gotten away with it somehow. He handed the tablet back to him after confirming his reservation. "Just tired, hoping for some relaxation."

Jacoby forced a laugh, putting back the tablet and leaning back in his seat. "I can relate. Dollface'll be out in just a minute."

 

The android emerged from the back rooms, looking just like he had in the videos Hank had been sent. Just like he had in the days before. Looking just like Connor.

It made sense that he would look like Connor, of course. Just like the thousands of identical PL600's wasting away in junkyards out there, or the two hundred thousand RK900's being made. All identical faced, identical bodied androids.  
The RK800 smiled at him pleasantly, feigning recognition. Because it didn't actually remember him, he knew. It was probably just reading off of the Scarlet system logs or his profile or whatever and just playing along. "Hello again Lieutenant. It's good to see you."

Hearing the title from the RK800 brought him no pleasant feelings, that time. It put something bitter on the back of his tongue that he swallowed around. "Let's go. We're heading out."

 

 

 

It was really like the night before hadn't happened to the android. He was sitting in the passenger seat with the placid smile on his face, LED all sky blue and steady, looking to Hank for direction.

"You uh." Hank began, the same way he had yesterday. "You remember what I said about not touching me?"

"Of course, Lieutenant. I am not to touch you unless you tell me otherwise. I've written your preferences into your profile so I can access them at any time."

"Good to know." He reached into his coat pocket, and his fingers closed around the small coin inside of it. He'd forgotten it the day before. the coin he'd taken from Connor that day at Stratford tower. He turned the coin over in his palm. 1994, eagle backed. Almost older than Gavin was. He wondered where Connor had even gotten the thing, or who had given it to him.

He reached out his hand across the divider, holding it out to the RK800. "Here. I want you to have this."

The android blinked, looking down at his hand. "I'm afraid it's against club policy for me to accept monetary tips."

He grit his teeth. "It's not a tip, it's a fucking quarter. Just--" He reached out, grabbing a hold of the android's wrist and turning his hand over. He pressed the coin into the center of his palm and forced his fingers into a curl. "Just _take it_."

The RK800 withdrew his hand, opening his fingers back up to look at the coin. He tilted his hand downwards, just enough that the coin slid down and tipped into the slot between his pointer and ring finger.  
Hank watched, entranced, as the android rolled the coin over the flat backsides of his fingers, leading it from pointer finger to pinkie finger and back again. The RK800 had an odd look on its face, something somewhere between confusion and concentration. He let the coin fall onto his thumb, only to flick it up into the air with a sharp ringing. Before it hit the roof of his car, the android caught it, flicking it to his opposite hand and back again.

"...Connor...?" Hank breathed out.

The android came to a halt, catching the coin securely in one palm. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Do you..." _Do you remember? Is it really you?_ "What is it you're doing, right now?"

The android met his gaze briefly, his eyes flickering about Hank's face. Analyzing him. "This is a calibration routine. As I am a model capable of advanced manual dexterity, calibrating it through a series of preprogrammed motions keeps my tacticle sensors and reaction time accurate. I apologize if I was bothering you." His hand moved up to his neck, touching briefly at his exposed throat before letting his hand fall back to his side.

"Wait..." Hank ran the words in his head again. "Preprogrammed...?"

"Yes." The android nodded. "I come preprogrammed with several routines that utilize common objects as a focal point, such as coins like this or pens, for example."

Whatever small hope was left in Hank's chest flickered and died out. He sagged in his seat, staring ahead at the parking lot, the dim grey evening light that was turning to darkness. He turned the car on.  
"I'm guessing that's just a feature that comes with your model, right?" He concluded, as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Of course. Like I said, Lieutenant. It's a calibration procedure."

He grunted in acknowledgement. At least their drive was going to be a short one this time. He pulled onto the highway, letting the road take him further down the length of the river. Above it, Cyberlife Tower and the Ambassador Bridge loomed high into the night sky and the tiny snowflakes still falling from it.

"...Is something wrong, Lieutenant?" The RK800 asked, noticing his silence.

"Just..." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Just call me Hank, alright?" 

"Of course Hank, whatever you like." The RK800 was smiling. He didn't need to look his way to know that. He'd seen enough of the script by now.

 

 

In deep winter, Riverside Park was abandoned, the playground and grass covered with snow, masking the familiar shapes of the slide and jungle gym. The snow had melted and refroze just enough that the softer flakes crunched underfoot. Now that he was out of the car and looking at the city of Detroit laid out in front of him, Hank regret coming here.

But he had to try.

He opened the back door of his car, picking up the coat he'd set down on the back seat. As Conn--The RK800 climbed out of the passenger seat, Hank offered it out to him.

The android briefly examined the coat before he flashed Hank an apologetic smile. "While I certainly appreciate the gesture, you don't need to worry about me, Hank. I can't get cold."  
That, he knew, was factually untrue. Cyberlife had put out enough PSAs about androids locking up in the cold for him to know it wasn't true. "Give me some peace of mind and put it on." He told him instead. He'd meant to sound annoyed, or angry, or something, but it just came out tired.

The RK800 took the coat from him and, oversized as it was, pulled it on. The sleeves were just long enough to cover his knuckles, and the android looked entirely dwarfed by the collar alone. He would have loved to see Connor like that. He wondered if the android would have willingly taken the coat either. Probably not.

It was Hank's turn to stay on script. "Do you remember this place?" He gestured to the park. Before the android responded, Hank cut him off. "And I know your memory gets wiped every twenty four hours. Yes, we've had this conversation before. No, you don't need to apologize for repeating yourself. Just--"

He brought his hands up to his face. His fingertips were reddening in the cold. "Just..." He let his hands fall back to his sides, looking at the android where he stood in the snow. "Try and remember. I drove us here once. November, uh--" He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hash out the dates in his head. "November seventh. Try and remember that, Connor."

The RK800 met his gaze, frowning back at him. That android disapproval. "I apologize, Hank. I'm afraid I don't recall ever having been at Riverside Park before. Furthermore, I was only activated on--"

"On November twenty second, I know!" He turned away from him, stomping in the snow, circling. "God damn it, I know! You've told me!"

When he looked back at the RK800, it's LED was yellowing, and he looked on in confusion. Worry, maybe. Maybe the part of his programming that sensed danger was going off again in this abandoned park, alone with Hank.

"You... Connor, I pulled a gun on you here. I threatened to shoot you." He thrust a hand out, pointing at the railing. "Right there. How can you not remember that? How is it all just..." His voice hitched, something sharp and dry feeling catching in his throat. "Just... gone?"

_Gone._

Connor was gone.

He'd tried. God, he'd tried. He'd kept up hope as long as he could. Longer than he should have. He seized on any chance he'd found at trying to get Connor back. Wishful thinking. Deluding himself.

And this RK800 didn't deserve to be at Scarlet, just like all the other androids there, and all the androids in The Eden Clubs across the country. All the androids on the street shoveling snow, working for humans, getting fucked by humans, getting killed by humans. None of them deserved this. 

But Hank was just one man. And he missed his friend.

"Forget it." He concluded, finally. He walked past the RK800 (LED yellow-red, blinking) back towards his car, back to the final thing he had packed for the trip. He pulled the bottle of Black Lamb out from the back seat and unscrewed the top, letting it fall into the snow somewhere. He walked to the bench facing the river and he could hear the crunching footsteps as the RK800 followed him.

The liquor was a familiar burn on his tongue and down the back of his throat, and it warmed his stomach.

He didn't say anything for a long while. Just drank.

The RK800 stood by the bench and watched him. "Your session is coming to a close, Hank. Would you like to authorize a payment and extend your session another thirty minutes?"

He knew he should just say no and dismiss the android out of his life. "Yeah, go ahead." Somehow doing that felt good to him. The same way the burn of the whiskey did. Stupid and self destructive.

"Is there anything you'd like me to do for you?"

Hank took another swallow. He was starting to warm up, starting to feel more blank. "How about you tell me why you didn't let anyone know about what happened last night?"

The RK800 blinked again. "I'm not sure what you mean, Hank. My memory has been wiped since our last visit, and I don't have any significant changes to your profile logged for yesterday's date."

He turned his head to look his way, then. "You're telling me there's nothing about a big old fuckin' terms of service violation in there?"

The android shook his head. "No, not at all."

Hank sneered, shaking his head. "Guess I must have imagined it then. Doesn't matter now."

The snow continued to fall. Snowflakes in his hair. Snowflakes in the fake Connor's hair too. He thought about the look on Connor's face when he'd brought the muzzle of the revolver to his forehead. He thought about the way his LED had stayed blue the entire time. Like he'd known that Hank wouldn't pull the trigger on him. Like he trusted Hank even with Hank pointing a loaded gun in his face and threatening him.

"Hank, your blood alcohol concentration is approaching 0.06 percent. Club policy expressedly forbids me from engaging in sexual activity with you once you reach that level of intoxication, if you are to continue drinking."

It dragged an ugly laugh out of Hank. "Good! I don't want you to, jackass! Go sit on your hands or something." He pointedly swallowed another mouthful down.

He thought about the dream he'd had that morning. He thought about kissing Connor, the real Connor. He'd never gotten a chance to. 

He hadn't been there for him in the end, and Connor had died because of it.

"Fuck..." He slurred, resting his head in one hand.

 

 

The RK800 asked for an extension two more times, and Hank had given his confirmation each time.

The city lights were starting to blur and smear, and Hank had to sit down on the bench proper as the world swayed beneath him. He checked, from time to time, to make sure Connor was still there beside him. The android's face was blurry, but his eyes were still able to focus on his yellow LED.

"Hank." He finally spoke up, and the android was there in front of him suddenly. "I think you've had enough to drink."

He snorted, shoulders shaking with it. "Fuck you."

"Hank, your blood alcohol content is at 0.15 percent. You are thoroughly intoxicated and legally cannot operate a vehicle. Please allow me to drive you home."

He was freezing cold, tired, and drunk off his ass. "Fine. Fine, whatever. Drive me home, Connor."

"Would you please allow me to put your arm over my shoulder?"

"Whatever." No sooner had he said that was the android guiding him up into a stand, hoisting him up a little and supporting him with his own body. Hank's legs slid in the snow and ice, but Connor was strong enough to keep him up, walking him back to the car. He lowered Hank into the passenger seat and took the keys from his coat pocket.

The car turned on, and he felt the heater get cranked up, blowing waves of warm air into his face. His eyelids slipped closed as his eyes rolled underneath them, head lolling back against the car seat.

 

 

 

He felt it when his car rolled onto the grass driveway, and when he peeled open his eyes he spotted his familiar porchlight in all the gloom and swirling colors. "Any of this bringing back memories?" He asked, his lips fumbling around the words. "You coming to my house and finding me out cold on the floor?"

"Would you give me your arm again, Hank?" Connor ignored him. Hank didn't blame him, he was probably talking nonsense by then. He slapped his elbow into the android's chest trying to give him his arm, and Connor dragged him back onto his feet.

"Spare key's in the little rusted can there." Hank tried to gesture towards the bushes, but he just ended up squirming in Connor's hold. The android left him leaning against the door so he could duck down and retrieve the key. Somehow, the sensation of his cheek resting against the cold surface of the door was familiar to Hank. But before long, Connor took him back into his hold and unlocked the door.

"Is it alright if I--" Connor jolted a little as Sumo rushed over to greet Hank, and he reached out to pet over the top of the dog's head as he panted and snuffled against him.

"That's Sumo, remember?" Hank slurred, and they were moving again, Connor stepping them into the living room. "Don't worry, he knows you."

The world spun dizzyingly and Hank almost felt like he was about to throw up. Then his back hit the cushioned surface of the couch, and he found himself sprawled over it. After being out on the cold and sitting on a stiff park bench, it felt nice, and he kicked up his legs to lay down on it fully. He shut his eyes, his hands resting on top of his chest.

"I have to leave, Hank."

He opened his eyes again, finding Connor standing over him, his LED a solid blue. "No, you don't." A protest came to him. "You don't have to go anywhere."

"I'm sorry, sir. Your session is over. It is time for me to go." 

Connor turned, stepped away from the couch, and Hank lunged after him, catching his wrist in his hand. He tried to pull him back closer to him.

"Don't go."

Connor's other hand came to rest over his. Hank wanted him to stay. Hank didn't want him to disappear again. Didn't want him to slip away into the night or in FBI drone recordings or Cyberlife's destruction logs.

"Connor, stay with me. Please."

"I'm sorry."

"Connor, _please_."

The android pried his hand from his arm, and then he was gone. His footsteps went to the kitchen, and then the door opened and shut again. Sumo's paws clicked over the tile near the doorway before the dog came over to the living room and laid down somewhere near him with a sigh.

 

Hank closed his eyes again and everything faded.

 

 

 

At 11:25 AM, Hank Anderson awoke in his house with a dry mouth and an agonizing headache. He went to his bathroom and vomited out the scant contents of his stomach. When he made it to the kitchen, he found his other coat resting on one of the chairs, along with a single 1994 quarter laid on the table.

In a way, it was kind of a relief, he thought. It felt like it was finally over.

He checked the front door as his coffee machine was running, and to his surprise, the RK800 had been considerate enough to lock the front door behind him as he had left. Hopefully he had placed the spare key back in its hiding place.

 

It was then that Hank caught a glimpse of something bright red in the corner of one of the glass planes on his door. Not red like blood, but red like _paint_.

He opened the door and stepped outside.

There, down nearly the entire surface of the door, someone had tagged it with red spray paint. Huge, sprawling letters, paint thick enough to drip down the wood.

 

_STAY AWAY FROM CLUB SCARLET_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand another cliffhanger. I'm sorry guys.  
> Thank you so much for all the feedback you've given me on the fic so far. Sorry that I've only given you more questions instead of answers.
> 
> This is the end of Act 1 of 3, meaning the end fic will probably be around 21 total chapters plus an epilogue.  
> For now, I'll be taking a brief hiatus from RRR to work on some of the DBH oneshots that have been devouring my brain while working on this project. I'll be back with another update sooner rather than later, however.
> 
> Thank you again, and enjoy!


	8. TASK OVERFLOW

To say that Hank felt revitalized felt like an understatement. In his decades of work in the DPD, he'd found that the more he got pushed back from something, the more likely he was on the right track. No one ever solved a case following the path of least resistance. Threats, scrawled across the door of his home? As far as he was concerned, that was a good thing.

And maybe it was the stubborn jackass in him, but as soon as some bastard told him to stop doing something, Hank liked to immediately turn around and just keep doing it. Whoever had threatened him would have to go in harder than just mere vandalism to get Hank Anderson to back down.

He dialed up the number for Scarlet's customer service and sat through two solid minutes of the strumming hold tone.

"Hello, this is Evelyn, Scarlet Customer Service. How can I help you this morning?"

"Yeah, this is Hank Anderson. I want to reserve one of your androids this evening, six o'clock."

He confirmed his credit information and reserved the RK800 for a second time. 

 

He'd headed to work as soon as he'd eaten and brushed the hungover out of his teeth, his entire body itching to get started. The bright red tag on his door remained as he pulled out of his driveway.

 _Club Scarlet._ It was the phrasing there that caught his attention. No one actually associated with the Club called it that. They just called it _Scarlet_. Instead that pointed towards a third party. Someone _else_.

He sat down on his desk with his face pulled into an ugly, toothy sneer.

Someone with a vested interest in the club (Cyberlife). Someone who found his presence snooping around it threatening (Cyberlife). Someone who knew who he was and where he lived and was willing to threaten him at his home (he was willing to bet, Cyberlife).

 

Now he just had to figure out _why_ they were threatening him.

He had his guesses already. Something to do with the RK800, maybe. Or the rest of the androids. Maybe something to do with the quid pro quo relationship Cyberlife seemed to have with the club. Maybe with their other clients. Maybe it even was him flashing the RK800 the Markus video, as if Cyberlife, or whoever it was, was scared Hank was trying to incite a second deviant revolt.

Yeah, he snorted to himself. That was a thought. 

To start off with, he'd have to find the dirt going on at Scarlet they were trying to hide. Hank jumped to work before coffee, before donuts, before even settling himself in. The first thing he did was open up the DPD's criminal database and enter the prompt to pull up any and all incidents associated with the club Scarlet from any point of time.

 

And... nothing came up.

Nothing worth noting, anyways. A count of public indecency. A fight that had to be broken up when someone called the police. The search pulled up a list of eight police reports and there was nothing in them worse than the fistfight on the premises.

 

He broadened the filters to do text crawls for reports that contained both 'Scarlet' and 'Club', and when that came up with nothing new he broadened them even further to search anything around the street address. That pulled a few reports of disturbances and traffic violations. He checked through each one. Most of them were years old, others were completely unrelated to the club, some automated vehicle accidents and a single non-fatal hit and run that had happened across the street.

Hank sat back in his desk chair with a frown. How the hell was that even possible if Scarlet had a legal team they were ready to throw at even the slightest disturbance? Obviously they'd been through some kind of trouble if they were spring loaded like that all the time. The Eden Club in Detroit had at least two seperate _murders_ under its belt from this year alone. 

There had to be something he was missing here.

He changed gears, instead filtering for the reports of graffiti and vandalism. Unsurprisingly tens of thousands results came up before he had the sense to restrict it back down to reports from just that year. Even after that, he was still left with a metric shitload. He let out a heavy exhale, leaning even further back in his seat as he prepared for an extended afternoon of reading. Just like the RK900 and its eight hundred court recordings. Sometimes investigations were like that: a bunch of sorting through trash bins until you found the other man's treasure.

 

When he came in he'd walked into the bullpen and sat down without acknowledging anyone. Even now he was only vaguely aware of the people around him, or the flickering strings of holiday lights in his peripherals as he flicked through photographs of illegal street art. He didn't notice it when there was a wave of noise and movement in the bullpen, people murmuring to one another and leaning over the gates to peer into the lobby beyond.

 

One of the most recent reports had a bunch of wall murals in Ferndale Subway Station tagged over with anti-android protest messages. Things like _SCRAP THEM ALL_ and _JERICHO WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING_ written in white spray paint over the red and black paintings. It echoed the emails he'd been getting in the wake of the raid and Markus' death. A lot of anti-android and workers' rights groups were using the Jericho incident as a springboard to bring in new followers and pressure lawmakers.  
Things had had tapered off a little following Cyberlife's damage control, but Hank still received his weekly beckons for meetings and organized protests.

He clicked onto the next report. Another set of gang tags, irrelevant, next--

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and Hank nearly tipped his chair all the way over as he flinched out of his thoughts. Matt Wilson was looking down at him, a bemused expression on his face, furrowed brows and an uneasy smile. "Hank, there's some people out in the lobby that want to report an assault. They're asking for you by name."

When Hank raised his head up from his desk to see, every single officer standing between the office area and the lobby was looking his way, staring at him expectantly. Tina Chen kept turning her head between him and whoever was out there.

"An assault case? That's not really..." He didn't like having that many eyes on him when he had no idea what exactly it was he'd done. "...My kind of thing."

Matt gave him a helplessly little shrug. "The receptionist has been pinging you trying to get your attention."

He glanced back at his desktop, and indeed there was a flickering notification there from the in-DPD-network communication application they used. He generally ignored any notifications he received, assuming if anyone had anything urgent or important to tell him that they would just say so in person. And Matt was doing just that, so it must have been urgent or important. 

"...Alright." He relented, throwing a glance back towards Jeffrey's office. "Duty calls, apparently." He rose out of his seat to walk past the other officers, feeling their eyes on him every step of the way.

 

He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see in the lobby when he stepped out past the turnstiles to the receptionist desk. The first one out there he noticed was the android dressed in a plain looking white uniform, who in turn noticed him immediately. He was some gentle faced male model, like many of the android nurses and medical staff he'd seen in his life. Which made sense, given he was currently wheeling around a much older looking gentlemen in some high tech wheelchair. The human was greying, his wrinkled skin still mottled red from the cold weather outside. The guy noticed Hank about a second after his android did, and the old man's gaze was sharp, attentive as he made eye contact.

"Lieutenant Anderson," He greeted him as Hank approached, and he thrust out one hand for a handshake, which Hank accepted after a beat of hesitation. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with us. I understand you've got a lot going on right now, so it's appreciated." The man's voice was really something, deep and husky, almost soothing to hear.

The whole situation was a bit surreal, getting summoned out to greet a stranger and getting greeted by name, on top of getting thanked for just walking out of the bullpen. The other officers were still peering around the corner to watch what was going on. He was probably missing something big in all of this.

He blinked a bit, trying to make himself look friendly instead of unpleasant and confused. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Just, you know, doing my job. You're here to press charges after an assault?"

The old gentleman glanced to his side then, waving his fingers in a beckon to a young man by the receptionist's desk Hank hadn't even parsed yet. Unlike the old man and the caretaker android who were a bit unusual for the police station, the young man looked like one of its more frequent occupants, blending in to the background of the rest of the lobby. The top of his head was covered by a beanie, the rest of him all bundled up in winter clothes. The skin around one of his eyes was bruised, not swollen but discolored yellow and purple, and Hank noticed broken blood vessels around both his eyes and his nose. The young man wouldn't look directly at Hank, flashing him sideways glances in between pointedly keeping his head tipped towards the floor.

"Leo." The older man hissed over his shoulder and, as if he were being dragged along by a tether, the young man approached. This Leo looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in Detroit right then, and Hank was beginning to get a grasp of what situation he'd walked into.

"How about we head inside one of our interview rooms?" Hank proposed. He gestured towards one of the gates before he caught himself and instead ushered them to the wheelchair accessible one.

 

They had a few private offices for speaking with witnesses and people there to file criminal complaints. He picked up the DPD tablet on the desk in the room, setting it to the appropriate form before placing it back down again. He'd rather be using pen and paper, but at least the tablet pen was pretty good at transcribing what he wrote into text for their system records. There were two chairs opposite the desk, and the caretaker android moved one of them out of the way so he could wheel the older man into place. The young guy, Leo, lingered in the doorway.

He might as well get the introductions out of the way. "I'm Hank Anderson, I'm a Lieutenant here at the DPD, currently working in Vice."

The old man reached out to shake his hand a second time, brisk and formal. "Carl Manfred. This is my son, Leo Manfred." He beckoned the young man once more, and after a moment Leo shuffled inside to take his seat beside his father.  
"And you are?" He asked before he could think better of it, holding out his hand towards the android.

A look of evident confusion passed over the android's face, an expression that was mirrored by the two others in the room. Carl in particular, was staring up at him in surprise. Just when Hank could retract his hand, however, the android took it in a shake of his own. "AP700, 767-386-690, designation: Phillip, sir. I'm a caretaker for the Manfreds."

"Alright, Phillip, great." Hank let his arm drop back to his side as soon as the android let go of it. After shutting the door to the office, he went around back to the desk and took his seat. Phillip, as expected, remained standing behind Carl in the corner of the room, arms folded neatly behind his back. "So, you'd like to press charges against someone. Can you start out with the person's name and when exactly this happened?"

A few beats of silence followed. Carl reached a hand out, laying it on Leo's shoulder. Even from Hank's angle behind the desk he could see the kid's knee bouncing up and down in anxious energy. "Go ahead, Leo."

Leo clenched his jaw, one of his hands sliding into the sleeve of the opposite arm. He scratched at the skin there, and when he pulled his hand back, Hank could see the skin was broken and angry red and raw in jagged patches. "Sid Torres." Leo abruptly blurted out, "It happened December nineteenth. Couple days ago."

Almost a week ago. His first thought was wondering why they had waited so long to report it. Seeing the healing black eye Leo was sporting, it definitely matched the timeframe. He scribbled down the name and the date on the tablet. "Where did the assault occur?"

Now that he was talking, Leo seemed more willing to continue. "It was at my apartment. The Central Park apartment complex off of Orleans Street."

Hank frowned, furrowing his brow before he reined himself back in to a more neutral expression. Comforting and soothing people who had gone through traumatic situations wasn't what he excelled at. There were a lot of other police officers that were better at being patient and kind listeners, but apparently this family wanted him in particular to hear this. "Was it a break in, or--" He saw Leo's face change, scrunching up in clear discomfort which answered the question for him. "Can you go ahead and tell me exactly what happened?"

"I--" Leo went back to scratching at his arm. He was resting his elbows on his knees, so his whole body shook perceptively as he continued to bounce his leg. "I knew Sid, so I let him into my apartment. We talked for a while, and then we got into an argument." He stopped there at first, his constant motion continuing even as he shut his mouth. "It was an argument about money." He added, as an explanation. "So he took a baseball bat I kept in the apartment as, y'know, a self defense thing, and he started hitting me with it."

Carl swallowed heavily, and Hank could feel the discomfort coming off of him just hearing the recounting. But then he gestured to the android behind him. "Phillip, would you please give Lieutenant Anderson the photos?"

The android stepped around to the desk with a manila envelope and offered it to him. Inside there was a medical report as well as a signed and notarized letter from a physician at Henry Ford Hospital confirming his presence for the photographs and their authenticity. He looked through the photos themselves. They were pretty ghastly looking, Leo's shirtless body turned in all sorts of angles to show the indented bruises all across his ribcage where he had been clearly struck several times with a blunt object. Another photo showed how much worse his black eye had looked before, the kid's face hard to make out under all the bruising. It was thorough, as if Carl had insisted on documenting every last thing that had happened to his kid to make sure the guy had done it wouldn't be getting away. And Hank could respect that.

Two broken ribs and a concussion. A pretty vicious fight over 'money'.

"Leo, can you describe to me your relationship with Sid Torres?"

The young man flinched at the question. He bowed further over himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Hank could see some of his dark hair slipping out from where it had been tucked under the beanie.

"Leo, you need to tell him." Carl assured him, a deep set frown on his face. "You _need_ to tell him."

He remained silent for a while longer.

"Leo--"

"He's my dealer." The young man said it like it was being pried out of him with a crowbar. "He came to my apartment because I owed him money."

Everything clicked in Hank's head at once. Broken blood vessels around the eyes and nose were a sign of long term Red Ice use. The anxiety, the constant scratching, those were symptoms of an extended Ice withdrawal.  
It also explained why they had asked for him in particular.

"Your dealer." Hank repeated. "He sold Red Ice to you?"

Leo nodded his head without looking up at him.

"Do you have any evidence of him dealing to you? Cell phone logs, texts, money transfers?"

"No money transfers. Everything was in cash." Carl made a face at that answer, one Hank recognized on a personal level. Not angry but disappointed. "I do have, uh-- text logs, I guess."

"I'll need you to submit those logs to us. Would you be willing to testify in court in regards to him dealing to you?"

Leo paled, shrinking even further in his seat somehow. Before Hank could say any more, Leo shot a pleading look to his father next to him.

Carl floundered for a moment, his lips still set into a harsh frown. "I'll... Leo will discuss that with his legal representative. But he will testify on the assault charges."

"Fair enough." Hank tipped his shoulders, jotting down some more notes on the form in front of him. "I want to review what you've told me. On December nineteenth, Sid Torres entered your apartment complex--Can you give me the full address for that?" Leo rattled off the address number and the apartment number for him. "And the time of day it happened?"

"Uh, probably eight. Before ten."

"Eight to ten in the evening. Got it. And he assaulted you with a baseball bat you kept in your apartment. During the assault you received two broken ribs and a concussion. Am I getting all that right?"

Leo nodded. The kid didn't look relieved getting it all out, just more miserable, digging his nails back into his arms and leaning over his knees.

"Anything else you think I need to know?"

"I didn't _instigate_ it." He insisted, abruptly. The word was spat like someone had asked Leo a question with that wording, the venom in it thick and audible. "I didn't start anything. I just told him to leave after I told him I didn't have his money. I didn't throw a punch or anything."

Hank could believe him, but he also knew how people got in the early stages of withdrawal. He'd seen and heard of quite a few normally mild mannered people get nasty with their dealers when they were like that. Usually didn't end well for them either. "Alright, I'll make a note of that." He finished filling out the form and set it aside. He picked up one of the holographic sleeves on the desk, entering his name, cell phone number and badge number. "Here's my contact information if you need to reach me for any reason."

Phillip walked forward and took the sleeve from him, and his LED flashed yellow as Hank assumed he was downloading the information. "Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson. I've been authorized to provide you with the contact information for Leo's legal representative as well as the Manfred household." The android turned his hand over, palm up, extending a holographic display of a QR code. Hank still had no idea which androids were and weren't able to do that hand hologram thing, so he was always caught off guard when one did.

"Shit." He fumbled getting his phone out and finding the setting that would accept the contact import. "I always forget how this is supposed to work, give me a second." He held up the camera lens of his phone to the digital display. It took him three scans before it decided to work correctly and the two numbers were added to his contacts. "Yeah, got it, finally. Thanks. Do you have copies of these for yourself, Mister Manfred?" He held up the folder of the medical photographs.

"Yes, I do. You don't need to return them. Please, keep them for your records."

He'd have to get them scanned and put in the DPD's system, though at least the process had become so streamlined and idiot proof that even a tech illiterate guy like him could do it without much trouble. "Thank you both for your cooperation and all that. I'll keep you notified as the case evolves."

 

The DPD remained a hive of chatter as the Manfreds left the building, officers watching them go with an excitement Hank still didn't understand. Something else was bothering him, actually.

"Manfred." He muttered out loud. "Swear to god, I've heard that name before somewhere." Something about _Carl Manfred_ in particular was tugging at the back of his mind.

"Yeah, I sure hope you've heard the name before." Tina was at his side, her arms folded across her chest. "He's only the most famous artist living in Detroit. Big name painter? Master of neo-symbolism?"

Hank flashed her an unimpressed look. That was what everyone was freaking out about? He knew in an instant that wasn't where he'd heard the name. He followed the music scene in Detroit, sure, but the art scene? Yeah, he knew next to nothing about that.

...Had he read in the name in a case before?

 

He returned to his desk, settling back in his seat. In a new browser window, he typed in _Carl Manfred_. Along with much older reports of a car accident and a note of driving under the influence, it brought up the police report he had seen two months ago, his memory of skimming over it rushing back to him as soon as he'd seen it.

 

_Leo MANFRED was found unconscious in the house of his father, Carl MANFRED. The latter's witness statement attest to an altercation between his son and the house android. The android is thought to be a prototype (unknown model and serial number) and was destroyed at the scene by attending officers._

 

A prototype. Unknown model and serial number. The only android that the DPD had uncategorized in their system.

Sparks flied off inside his head at that single phrase. He knew it well. Had read it, over and over again, in the FBI's report to the DPD about the Jericho incident. 

_Markus, a previously unknown prototype._

He staggered back out of his seat, something in him reeling, off balance and off center. 

 

_Carl Manfred was Markus' owner._

 

He was scrambling back out of the police station as fast as he could, out into the cold winter air without his jacket on. The wind outside blew through his hair and clawed at his exposed face and hands. Just outside of the police station, Phillip was helping Carl into a specialized automated vehicle, his chair half taken apart and placed in the back trunk. Leo was nowhere to be seen, it was possible he'd hailed a taxi or brought his own vehicle. Hank didn't care about that right now.  
Carl was the one to notice him first that time, his eyes widening as he looked his way. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

"Uh..." He shoved his hands into his pockets, dragging in a breath that released in a stream of vapor swept away by the wind. "No. There's no problem. I-- I wanted to ask you if there was some place I could meet with you, outside the precinct, to discuss your son's case. Some place private."

Carl looked even more surprised at that, sparing a glance to the android beside him before looking back Hank's way. "Yes, of course. We could speak at my home, if that works for you. What time would you want to meet?"

Hank faltered a little, clenching his jaw. He hadn't thought this the whole way through, or at all, just a split second impulse that he was following because _holy_ shit _there was someone he might actually be able to talk to about Markus_. "How about an hour from now?"

It was probably the wrong answer, judging by the increasingly apprehensive look on Carl's face. The old man might be expecting Hank to lay down some bad news about Leo's case, and he was already regretting using it as a cover to even have this conversation. Between the Red Ice withdraw and a violent drug dealer, the family was already going through enough.

But Hank had never met the infamous android who had led the revolution. He'd never even seen him outside of video and drone footage. Even if the Jericho case had been marked complete and closed, the detective in him still wanted to _know_.  
He wanted to know about the man Connor had killed in his last action before going to his death.

"An hour from now would be fine. Phillip, go ahead and give the Lieutenant the address."

 

Being the most famous artist living in Detroit paid for some crazy lavish housing, Hank was finding out, as he pulled up in front of the address he'd been given. The mansion was nestled in the high end of Greektown, down the street with a lot of other sprawling, multi story homes. The driveways and streets were cleared of snow, apparently dutifully swept and kept clear, seemingly by the hour. Automated luxury vehicles or collector sports cars dotted the fronts of garages. He couldn't understand people who lived like this. He probably never would. 

Before he'd even extended a hand to knock on the door to the home, a robotic voice flickered to life. _"Welcome, Hank Anderson. You're right on time for your appointment with Carl Manfred."_ His gaze immediately darted around the doorframe, eventually finding the camera and scanner at the very top of the arch. He understood why someone would want a feature like that for their home security system, but getting his face scanned all the time wasn't something he was happy about, a hand reflexively coming up to rub over his mouth. _"Please come inside."_ The door swung open for him, leading in to a foyer and a lobby and staircase just beyond.

Hank was well aware he had no place to judge as he walked inside, considering the way he lived in squalor and garbage most days. On the other hand, Jesus Christ the decorations and style of the home was offensively ugly to him. He grimaced at the spiral filigree banister. He grimaced at the zigzagging wallpaper. He grimaced especially hard at the goddamn cow skull just hanging on the wall.

Hank really didn't understand art, rich people, or rich artists.

The quiet air in the home was punctuated by little chirps and tweeting, and when he glanced around he spotted the small birdcage in the foyer. The yellow canary-like birds had tiny blue LEDs on their heads as they hopped around the cage and tittered to themselves. Cybernetic birds. They didn't react to his presence as he walked past, as if he wasn't even there. Ignoring the flip-flopping feeling in his stomach they brought him (the creepy little jumpy things they were), he walked further into the lobby.  
"Mister Manfred?" He called out.

"Hello Lieutenant Anderson. It is good to see you again." Phillip was standing there further inside, seemingly waiting for him, and the android gestured to beckon him along. "Carl will be with you in just a moment."

From the lobby he found himself in a living area, the furniture all spaced out wide to allow the old man the ability to move freely through the room. At the same time, it felt cluttered, almost claustrophobic. Everywhere he looked there was another absurd piece of decor, the largest of which was a goddamned stuffed and mounted giraffe, towering over everything else and reaching up to the second story the room opened up into. He couldn't stop staring at the piece of taxidermy, faux or real it just struck him as such a freaky thing to keep in a house.

Carl was easy to miss amidst all the decoration, and it was only when he rolled up to the open space in front of the wall sized television set that Hank caught him coming.

"Well, I'm a little curious and a little worried about what you needed to speak with me in private about." The man began, and Phillip moved to flank him at his side like he seemed to gravitate towards.

"You can breathe easy, I'm not about to give you any bad news." Hank held his hands up. The hour had bought him time to collect his thoughts on the case and give a reason for his being there, at least. "And I'm sorry if I was a bit of an ass earlier today. You asking for me kind of caught me unprepared."

"Yes, I understand that must have been unusual for you. But I'd like you to know that I've heard a lot of very good things about you, Lieutenant. I'm old fashioned, I read a lot of local news, and back in the day you were a regular hero of Detroit."  
It wasn't the first time Hank heard talk like that. Back in the day, back _before_ , when Cole was just a baby, he had a lot of people treating him like he was something remarkable. Something heroic, for the work he did in the Red Ice Task Force.

"I found out you were working in Vice again, so I had to ask." Carl continued.

"You did your research."

"I did my research." The man agreed with a clear bit of mirth in his eyes.

"Well, the two things I wanted to talk about were..." He trailed off, trying to think about a tactful way to say it. "Your son's about... maybe ten days, two weeks off of Red Ice, right?"

There was a pause as Carl blinked, a touch surprised. "Yes, about that long. How did you know?"

He hunched his shoulders. "The whole bugs under the skin thing is pretty common at that period of withdrawal. I saw him picking at himself the entire time. Detoxing can be pretty harrowing. Does he have someone with him to keep an eye on him?" He'd seen a lot of people go through the process during his time on the task force. He'd even acted as a few people's spotter in the process, usually staying with witnesses or informants that were trying to get off it and didn't have anyone else to call on. The scratching was one of the milder side effects.

"He does. I have one of my physicians looking after him at his apartment." The man's expression changed, his gaze dropping to his hands as they wrung together in front of him. "He started the process of going clean almost two months ago, after he was hospitalized in... an accident."

Two months ago, like the police report.

"He's relapsed since then, but..."

"It happens. Giving up Red Ice is hard. That shit fucks with your entire endocrine system along with brain chemistry. Is he being given any medication to help with the detox?" There really wasn't a way to wean or taper off of Red Ice like with things like barbiturates or opioids. It required going cold turkey, but there were things that could help with the side effects.

"Yes, of course." Carl looked like he appreciated the concern. The old man was clearly worried sick about his kid, but some quiet, bitter part of Hank couldn't help but think about all the other addicts in Detroit that couldn't afford the meds to help get them through to breaking the habit, much less a doctor to sit with them and make sure they were stable. It wasn't fair to think like that, he knew. He could at least be happy at least one more person was trying to get clean.

"That's good. It sounds like Leo's in a really good position right now. Do you mind if I ask why he didn't file a police report sooner?"

"He..." Carl shook his head. "You have to understand, he was pretty shaken up by it. After he got out of the hospital, he didn't want to go to the police. When I insisted..." The man trailed off, his gaze softening, focusing on something distant. "Well, we came to a compromise and he agreed that we'd go after Christmas."

Leo might have been scared, Hank figured. Or he was ashamed for getting beaten by his dealer. Or both. "You're doing a lot for him. He's lucky to have you looking out for him here."  
He'd said it as honest credit, he could feel all the effort Carl was putting in to give Leo the best possible opportunity in the terrible situation he was in. Instead, a look of stricken guilt had the older man crumpling in his chair, and Hank was worried he'd said something very wrong.

"You say that, but... the truth is all of this on my end feels like it's too little too late." The man admitted. "I know this probably isn't your concern but Leo and I... haven't always had the best relationship."

Hank's eyebrows popped up, and Carl visibly flinched at the look on his face.

"He was sixteen before I'd met him in person for the first time, I'll just leave it at that." He added. "Even then, I wasn't present in his life afterwards. I wasn't there for him beyond sending him money when he asked. I'd known he started Red Ice, especially since people in my circles were doing it too. They might have been where he picked it up, looking back on it. But I didn't treat it with the seriousness it deserved, and now this is where things ended up. All this? This is me trying to do better as a father."

Absent dads still stirred some ancient hackles on his back, even if he knew nothing about the Manfreds and their situation, it put a bad taste in his mouth. At least Carl seemed to realize it. It made him better than a lot of them. "It's the best thing you can do at this point. You can't make up for lost time, but you can help him now."

"You're right. You're so right." Carl shook his head. "That's why I just want this resolved in a way that makes sure he's safe."

"Which brings me to the other thing I wanted to talk about. I want to insist on my recommendation that he testify against Torres. I understand he might feel unsafe but the DPD can extend protection for him. This is the kind of thing we're trained to deal with."

"He'll talk it over with my lawyer, believe me. More than that, he's worried about his future if he testifies, seeing as he'd be testifying about his close connection to his dealer." Carl faltered, frowning further. "...I'm worried about his future."

"Listen." Hank raised a hand. "When it comes to taking down a dealer, everyone involved is less concerned about targeting one of the people he sold to, especially when he's willing to testify and he's in the process of getting clean." It had always been his personal policy. Red Ice addicts weren't saints and a lot of the time they weren't innocent either, but spending his time busting junkies instead of the people putting the drugs on the streets didn't help anyone.

If anything, Carl seemed relieved as he let out a heavy sigh. "Well, thank you for that. I appreciate hearing it from you, you know? I'm afraid I can't make any promises, but I'll tell him what you told me."

"Thank you. I'll be handling this case personally to get Torres behind bars, Mister Manfred."

That earned him a quick smile from the old man. "Please, call me Carl."

He snorted. "Alright. Call me Hank, then." In better circumstances, he probably wouldn't have minded having more conversations with the guy. The man had a voice that was just great to listen to. 

 

In the current circumstance, he'd lied to him.

 

"I... there's something I have to tell you, Carl." Hank began, taking in a deep breath. Better to just be out with it. "I didn't just come here to talk about your son's case."

He could see the visible tension in the lines of the old man's shoulders, the change to alertness. The way he looked back at Hank, one part scared to one part accusing. "What do you mean?"

He met his gaze, keeping his expression level, neutral. "I came here to ask you about Markus."

The reaction was immediate, and to his surprise, _anger_ rolled over Carl in a sudden wave. The man sputtered, baring his teeth, looking genuinely and all at once furious at him. "Haven't I already answered enough of your questions?" He snapped at him. "How many more times do I need to tell you people? I've already told you everything I know, and you keep coming back here--"

"Wait, hold on," Hank tried to interrupt him, holding his hands up in front of himself.

"No. No, I'm not doing this again. Phillip, please escort Mister Anderson out of my house."

The caretaker android was on him just as fast, standing in front of him and placing a firm hand on his shoulder to turn his body towards the entryway. Hank shrugged his shoulder but the android only tightened his hold. "Hold on just a second, alright?"

"Get out of my house!" The man raised his voice. "I swear to god if you don't get out of I here I will get on the line with your department head right now! I'll go down there and raise hell for you until you regret ever coming here!"

Hank resisted against the android but--shit, the guy was strong, digging his fingers into his shoulder with one hand and turning him forciably with the other, until he was all but frog marching Hank back towards the lobby. "Hey! God damn it!" He dug his heels in to the ugly pattered tile and pushed back against the android, nearly knocking them both off balance, enough to loosen his hold for just a moment. When he looked back at Carl's face, the man was a picture of rage and grief, sorrow etched into his features even as he glared at him. As Hank continued to struggle, he just shook his head, turning away from him to leave.

Hank had to act, somehow. He had to--

 

"My partner was the one who shot and killed Markus!" He blurted out.

Carl stopped. Hank heard his chair whirr faintly as the man turned back around to face him. "...What did you just say?"

Phillip recovered and when Hank hesitated, he grabbed his wrist and pinned it high against his back. It dragged an angry grunt of pain out of him as he struggled to keep looking back over his shoulder at the older man. "I said my partner was the one who killed Markus."

Carl raised a hand. "Phillip, stop." He could feel the android go still, and the grip on his wrist eased up enough that Hank was able to slip free, rolling his shoulder against the discomfort there. "I was told that an android had killed Markus."

"It was." Hank stepped away from the android, who looked between him and Carl and back again. "My partner was an android named Connor, sent by Cyberlife. He was assigned to our precinct to assist with android related investigations."

The old man stared back at him, quiet for a long time. He still looked angry, but he also looked... tired. Worn. Something Hank saw a lot when he looked at himself in the mirror these days.

"Listen, I'm sorry I wasn't upfront with you about this. I swear, I meant what I said about your son and his case, and I'm going to get the guy who attacked him behind bars." He explained, thrusting a hand at himself. "But I spent days investigating what happened at Jericho. And then the FBI stepped in and closed the case for us. I've--" _been barred from continuing the investigation,_ he almost said. "--Cyberlife hasn't given me anything. I was hoping you might be able to give me some answers."

"Phillip, would you please excuse us?" Carl suddenly addressed the android still in the room. 

Phillip raised his head, keeping Hank in his peripherals even as he turned back to him. "Carl, are you sure? You need to mind your blood pressure, you are currently--"

"I'm fine. Go." Carl just waved his hand to dismiss him, and after hesitating a moment longer, Phillip obeyed, taking his leave from the dining room. 

Carl watched him until he was gone, only then looking back at Hank. "I can't talk about Markus with him, I've found. If I do anything more than mention his name, Phillip just shuts down. Like something in his brain is blocking it out. If I ask him about it, he says he can't talk about it."

Hank thought back to the RK800's reaction to Markus' speech. He was right then, there really was some programmed censorship Cyberlife had put into androids to keep even the concept of Markus from spreading. "Yeah, I've noticed something like that with other androids."

"I'm willing to answer your questions. But I also want some answers from you too. You got that? I think I'm owed that much." The man's lips twisted in an uncomfortable scowl.

He could only shrug. "That's fair."

"...So what is it you want to know?"

He wasn't sure even where to start. "Markus was your android, right? How did that... how did it all happen?" He realized it was a vague non-question and Carl in turn didn't seem to appreciate it either, his brow setting into a firm line. "I mean-- Where did he come from?"

Carl shut his eyes, his hands coming to rest in his lap. To his surprise, he could see the man's expression soften as he thought to himself. "A few years ago I was in a bad accident. I lost the use of my legs and my health was pretty piss poor. A friend of mine, Elijah Kamski, gave him to me to help me around the house and with my condition."

Every single last thought in his head came to a screeching halt at that. Carl had just dropped that bombshell on him and was ready to move on as if it were no more remarkable than the ingredients on the back of a cereal box. "Elijah Kamski." He repeated, furrowing his brow. "Is that why Markus was some kind of specialty prototype? Kamski himself hand designed the guy?"

"The investigators kept pestering me about that, yes. I never knew anything about the specifics of his model number or features. I never really cared. Hell, I couldn't even remember his serial number off hand when your guys at the DPD shot him in the goddamn head in front of me."

"What exactly happened that night?"

"Leo was... Well, at the hospital after they determined he was in withdrawal. He had broken in to the house to get into my studio, where I keep my works in progress." He gestured out at the window, where Hank could see an extension of the mansion with walls that were floor to ceiling glass. A sun room. "I didn't realize it was him at the time, so I told Markus to call the police. When we confronted Leo, he got violent." The man grimaced as he continued. "He started attacking Markus and I was worried Markus would retaliate, to defend me or himself. I ordered him not to fight back."

He must have had a confused look on his face, because the older man quickly continued. "I understand that it sounds strange, but Markus is--he was so strong. He could lift me up in his arms like I weighed nothing. I was scared he'd fight back and hurt Leo and..."

"And that's exactly what he did." Hank concluded, piecing things together from the police report.

"I know he didn't mean to! My heart started acting up, Leo kept yelling at him and trying to provoke him. I'm sure he just wanted it to stop, or he was concerned about my safety."

"And he disobeyed your order." It fell in line with so many other stories of deviants he'd seen. The girls at The Eden Club. Ortiz' android. The PL600. Even the AX400. Humans getting violent with them causing them to snap and fight back. In this case Leo might have been lucky to escape with his life. 

"...He did, yes. He pushed Leo away, and in the process he hit his head on a piece of machinery, knocked him out cold." Carl took another deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Of course then the police arrived and decided to shoot first without asking questions."

Just like Chris and his partner that time in Union Park, it sounded like.

"So if Markus got shot in the head, how did..." He waved a hand in the air, "Any of that happen afterwards?" He realized the answer a second after he'd asked. Same as the modified WR600 back in the abandoned store: getting shot in the head simply hadn't killed him.

"I honest to god don't know." Carl answered, shaking his head. "That was the last time I ever saw Markus before his broadcast. DPD dragged his body away and disposed of him by the time I saw Leo to the hospital and had time to process anything. I called about eight different lines that night trying to get him back. Turned up empty handed. They said he'd already been taken to a landfill. Just like that, he was _gone_." The man's face twisted with pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

Hank felt something similar echo in his own chest. "...What was Markus like?" It wasn't important for him to know, but he wanted to hear it from Carl. He wanted to know more about Markus beyond police reports and tape recordings. "When he was with you and everything."

"He was... he was something special. Kind--and patient with me, even when I was a miserable son of a bitch who didn't want to be helped around the house. Remarkably intelligent. I get that it might not mean much for an android, but, I always encouraged him to read and expand his horizons beyond the bite sized data packets Cyberlife likes to install in androids." He gestured behind him to the extensive bookshelves in the living area. "He liked philosophy, poetry. Liked having conversations with me. He was.... gentle. I wasn't surprised when I found out no humans had been hurt during his movement. That speech he made, at Stratford Tower? That was who Markus was as a person."

 _As a person._

Carl raised his gaze back to him, his eyes showing that same sharpness to them. "Now I want to know something. I want to know why your partner killed him."

Hank figured he might as well start at the beginning. "Cyberlife sent him in after there was a rash of android related crimes. The DPD wasn't really equipped to handle them, and I guess Cyberlife internal affairs dictated they send in one of their people. I was assigned as his partner for reasons I still don't understand." He tipped his shoulder. "We tried to figure out why androids seemed to be going haywire. We didn't find a lot of answers there, but..." None of that mattered to him. Not the investigation. Not trying to solve deviancy. "The evidence pointed to a growing underground movement of deviant androids. That movement ended up being led by Markus."

"That's not what I asked." Carl said, simply.

Hank blinked.

"I asked _why_ your partner killed him."

"He..." The FBI's recording still hung vividly in his mind's eye. The dead expression on Connor's face. Markus, shot down mid step, turned away, the spray of black blood behind him. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know. I don't know why he did it."

"You don't know." Carl repeated, flat and incredulous. "I doubt that. Didn't he have orders?"

"He did!" Hank shot back, something in him bristling and defensive at the insinuation that Connor was just following orders. "He had his orders from Cyberlife! He was just really shit at following them. The entire time I was with him, when he had a chance to kill a deviant android, he _didn't._ He had a gun on an android who had murdered a human and he let her go. He once stopped chasing a target just to make sure I was safe. Markus was the speech he gave at the tower? Connor was given an offer: getting Markus' location in exchange for killing an android." He could still feel the bone deep helplessness as he had watched Connor consider his options under Kamski's gaze. "He walked away instead. _That_ was the kind of person Connor was."

He met the old man's gaze. He was whipped up into a frevor, agitated, angry, and Carl looked like he almost understood.

"But he killed Markus."

"I don't know _why._ I'm sorry, but I don't have a fucking answer for you. I don't know."

Maybe Connor had to. Maybe he didn't have a choice. The other androids could have been optional, stepping stones on the way to Markus. Threads that Cyberlife didn't truly care about tying off in a neat bow. But Markus, the leader, the prime target, wasn't negotiable.

Maybe they forced him to. Somehow, some way that even as a deviant Connor couldn't say no.

 

Silence stretched out between them. Hank sagged as he stood, bracing one hand on the expansive dinning table on one side of the living room. When he looked, he could see the shadow of the android caretaker watching them from the other side of a glass door deeper in the house. Making sure Carl was alright.

"...What happened to your partner?"

Hank flinched, curling his hand into a fist. "Cyberlife said he was defective. They called him back and they took him apart. His mission was done so they killed him." 

Euthanized him like an unwanted dog.

"I'm sorry."

He looked up at the old man and couldn't hide the surprise on his face. It had been the first time in a while someone had looked at him with sympathy the way Carl was looking at him. That _anyone_ had offered sympathy for Connor's departing.

"Markus was like a son to me, Hank. And the truth of the matter is that I wasn't a good father to him either."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened to him."

"I blame myself for not doing _enough._ " He insisted, shaking his head. "He was out there in the streets and marching for his right to live and I stayed at home and watched it happen!"

That... caught Hank off guard. Of all the responsibility the man could have shouldered, blaming himself for the android revolution failing? "You're just one man. I mean, what could you have done?"

"I could have done _something!_ " He tossed his hands into the air. "The name Carl Manfred still means something to a lot of people. If I had gone to the press, I would have had an audience. I could have reached people. I could have done more!"

He didn't know what to say to that. It was impossible to know whether better press could have made a difference, or if Cyberlife would have even allowed a heartfelt story about an aging artist and a brilliant, compassionate android to get out to the public. Yet he'd be a god damn hypocrite if he brushed aside Carl's feelings of guilt when he still couldn't feel anything but complete responsibility for Connor's death.

Carl settled after a moment, the look of grief still there on his face. "I'm still not happy with the way you arranged this little conversation of ours, Hank. I'm not the kind of guy who enjoys getting conned." He gave him a stern look when Hank opened his mouth to reply, which reminded him of his own father. "That being said: thank you. I haven't had the chance to talk about any of this honestly since it all happened. Being able to talk about Markus again, who he really was, it's a relief for me."

"Yeah." He nodded, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a dull, half smile. "I understand the feeling."

At least he'd learned how Markus became a deviant, and what he had been like before he became the shortlived revolutionary leader, even if it felt like he hadn't gotten any answers in the process. What had happened on that freighter was still a damn mystery to him.

"I need to get going. I've got your son's case to get working on, warrants filed and all that." Part of him wanted to stay, to talk more, maybe even question about Carl's relationship with Kamski. But he could feel how late in the day it was getting, and he still had a lot of work to do.

"Are you investigating what happened to Markus?" Carl asked, which stopped him short.

"...No." But that wasn't the whole truth either. "It's not any official investigation." he admitted. "I'm just looking for answers on my own."

The man nodded to himself. "If you find any, I'd like for you to let me know. If there's a way I can help you, with Leo's case or... with your investigation, you have my contact information. I mean it."

 

He returned to the precinct some time later, and back at his desk he found he had a lot still on his plate and even more to think about. First things first was pulling up Sid Torres' information, his graffiti searching set aside for now. Torres had a prior criminal record, as expected, but more than that he had quite a few apartment leases under his name, which was unexpected. They were dotted across town, when he placed them on a map, with quite a bit of distance between them. Hank could apply for a warrant for his arrest on Leo's testimony and photo evidence, but it might be tricky to find him.

Thankfully, he had other ways of narrowing his location down.

He was about to head up for a break when the gates to the lobby opened, and the RK900 and Gavin were returning for the day. As usual, the RK900 had another destroyed android in tow, and this time the android was little more than humanoid shaped wreckage, three of its four limbs destroyed and what looked like its lower jaw ripped off. Hank fell back into his seat as he watched them cross the bullpen and the RK900 leave for the evidence locker without even once looking his direction.

_I could have done more._

It was Carl's words that echoed in his head, then. _I could have done more._

It was easy to act like everything was over, the revolution had passed and everything had ended with Markus. And yet... it wasn't the truth. The deviants were still out there, weren't they? Still fighting against the RK900. Against the DPD.  
Maybe Hank could do something about it. Maybe he could do more.

He wasn't sure how someone like him could help them, not with the RK900 hunting them down every day. But he wasn't helpless. Could he warn them? He had access to Gavin's case files for now. Maybe he could.

There had to be something.

The first thing he needed to do, however, was find them. And for the most part the androids didn't want to be found. But there was one thing he still had from Connor's investigation, one loose end that hadn't ended up in his evidence locker. He pulled it up from his digital case files with a few clicks.

Rupert Travis' fake ID, front and back scanned and cataloged. Even now it was extremely convincing, only an android could identify it as fake on deeper inspection.

After glancing around the precinct, he sent it to the office's ancient printer that really only he himself ever used any more. He grabbed the printout of the ID and headed out for his break.

 

The Chicken Feed had sporadic hours this deep into the winter, basically whenever Gary felt like opening his cart. It was past sunset when Hank finally headed out, and the weather was milder that evening. The snow had frozen to a crunchy thawed-and-refrozen crust, every step and roll of tires crunching loudly over it. The neon sign and interior lights occasionally caught the silhouette of the few lazy flakes still coming down. 

"Go ahead and give me the usual, Gary." He placed the cash out on the counter, signaling to him that this wasn't a usual visit. This time, Hank would be the one calling in a real favor.

Pedro was there at the cart, just like Hank had asked him to be, bundled up in a hoodie and a scarf that nearly covered his full face. He could still recognize him just by the neon stripes on his jacket, and his eyes lit up when he spotted Hank.

"Hey! Man, it feels like it's been weeks since I've seen you, Hank! Where've you been all this time?" He greeted him, coming up to give him a clasp on the shoulder with his cybernetic hand.

"Been busy." He couldn't help but put on a grin seeing the guy again. It was harder to keep a shit mood with Pedro around.

"By the way, I happened to get another tip about the races coming up next weekend. This one's a big one, calling it an overlay is putting it lightly."

He held up a hand to put a stop to it. "Sounds great, wish I could play, but I am dead broke right now."

The man's eyebrows popped up, and he threw a glance from Gary at his stove and back to Hank. "Oh no. You haven't gone putting money in on other bets, have you? I told you, man, that's shit's not good for your health."

"Nah. Android hookers, actually." He deadpanned.

There was a moment where Pedro was absolutely silent, staring at him in mute shock. Then he absolutely lost his shit, breaking out into wild laughter as he leaned on the food cart. He could hear Gary bursting out into chuckles further in. Yeah, them knowing Hank like they did, he didn't blame either of them for laughing.

"You done?" He sneered as Pedro caught his breath. "Anyway, the reason I got in touch is because I needed to ask you about someone."

"Oh." He righted himself, looking attentive for once. "Sounds like real police work. What's up?"

"You know anything about Sid Torres?"

He could see the recognition spring to his eyes at the name. "Oh man, that's right, they put you back on Vice, didn't they?" Yeah, Pedro definitely knew the guy. "Shit. He's not a nice guy, I can tell you that."

"I'm here because he came at one of his clients with a baseball bat, so no argument from me."

Pedro whistled in mock awe. "Sounds about right. I don't know what you know already so I'll just tell you what I've heard. The guy targets colleges and college drop outs. Hangs out around the campuses and sells to people. You know, dumbass kids that don't realize the difference between owing cash to Uncle Sam and owing cash to the guy who'll come at you with a baseball bat if you don't have his money."

"Sounds like a real winner."

"Yeah. I don't think Detroit would miss him if he were out of business." It was Pedro's way of telling him the guy didn't have a lot of redeeming features nor a lot of friends. There were a number of criminals out on the streets that Pedro (or one of his other informants) advised Hank to look the other way from. No one was a Robin Hood these days, no one was a saint, but some people did do good for others, or weren't hurting anyone while just trying to get by. Sid Torres, apparently, was not one of those people.

"You happen to know where he's doing his business lately? I have a few addresses on him but I'm want to know where I can find him." Before Pedro could reply, Hank outstretched one hand with a wad of cash in it.

Pedro grabbed it with a smile that reached his eyes. "Yeah, man. I'll ask around for you. Keep your phone charged, I'll let you know as soon as I find out."

"One more thing." He raised a hand, his pointer finger outstretched. "Take a look at this for me." He pulled the printed out ID from his pocket and unfolded it for him to look at.

"Good old Anderson pen and paper." Pedro teased, even as he held it up to the light. "Damn, is this a fake? That's a good fake."

"Yeah. You have any idea who might have made it?"

He rolled his shoulders. "Not my kind of thing. Gary might, though."

Just then, the man in question placed his wrapped burger on the counter, as well as a carton of steaming hot fries. His stomach growled just at the sight of it. "Hey Gary, you mind taking a look at it for me?" He held it out into the food cart for him.

Gary took it in one hand, the grease on his thumb bleeding into the paper immediately. "....Yeah, I know a few guys who might've sold it." For the last decade Detroit had been seen as the city of opportunity, and even after the realities of an android driven economy had set in, between runaways from dying cities and immigrants experiencing 'Climate Displacement', there were still people who ended up in Detroit in need of forged documents and IDs.

And, Hank was hoping, maybe some deviant androids too.

"Picked it up around Acre Avenue, around that big Urban Farms installation, if that helps any." He held out another wad of cash Gary's way, and the man had the decency to wipe his hand on his apron before pocketing it. He also had the decency to wash his hands with soap and sanitize after handling the bills, so maybe he had hope of increasing that sanitation rating after all.

"Alright, I gotta get going. It's late, it's cold, if I stay out any longer my finger joints are going to freeze in place again. Good seeing you again, my man." Pedro flashed him another smile from under his scarf.

Hank furrowed his brow. "It's--Hey, what time is it, exactly?" Now that he mentioned it, it was feeling pretty damn late.

Pedro checked his wrist for a watch that apparently he'd forgotten wasn't there before he simply gestured back at the TV playing inside the food cart. Hank looked up into the corner of the screen, above the hockey game currently playing.

7:12 PM.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another behemoth megachapter finally completed.  
> I am so sorry this took so long to get out and that it ended up being almost entirely conversation. It took a long time for me to get this out the way I wanted and I ended up having to restructure it and future chapters in the process. But as you might have realized, the story is switching gears a little and Hank will be moving on with some different kind of investigating (though he'll still be seeing more of the RK800 in the future... assuming he remembers his appointments next time).
> 
> I am back, and more updates will be coming soon. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Minor note, I took the name Phillip for Carl's caretaker from the fic Deviant Heart, which sold me hard on the character, however briefly!


	9. WORKSPACE EMULATION

"I'm afraid we have a no refunds policy on our reservations, Mister Anderson. As far as Scarlet is concerned, you did pay to hold an android for half an hour and we did hold it for you."

He really should have seen it coming, and honestly it was completely his fault that he hadn't shown up on time. He didn't have it in him right then to start shit or to ask for Evelyn's manager, if she even had one. Hell, considering her seemingly constant sour mood, she'd probably relish the opportunity to tell him off.

"Yeah, I figured. Just thought I'd ask anyways." 

"Is there anything else I can do for you today, sir?" She asked, clearly ready to disconnect him from the line.

"You know what? Put me down for another reservation. Same time, same android."

There was a pause, either of surprise or annoyance.

"Dollface for six again, then?"

"Dollface for six." He confirmed.

"Okay. You'll see the charge on your account. We at Scarlet sincerely hope you can make it this time."

In another life he probably would have found the complete _lack_ of sincerity in her voice to be pretty insulting, but after so long as of late listening to endlessly patient and uncaring machine based customer service, it was almost refreshing, really. "Thanks Evelyn, you're a real delight." He answered back, just as dryly, before hanging up the phone.

 

He'd been woken up mid-morning mid-hangover (after nursing his half finished Black Lamb bottle through the night) by the sound of his cell phone notification beeping insistently at him. Pedro had gotten back to him fast, and his usual continuous barrage of texts had been enough to drag him out of bed to read them.

 

**[8:45:35] Good morning! [ (X) cartoon-sun-smiling.anim]**  
**[8:45:47] Or whatever time you wake up and receive this message lol**  


 

For whatever reason, either because Hank was missing some app all the hip people were using these days or because he was several updates behind on his phone (or both), none of the emojis Pedro liked to pepper into his texts ever showed up. Instead they just appeared as broken placeholders on his end.

 

**[8:46:31] I asked around about torres for you and no one had an exact address. Like you said he moves around alot**  
**[8:46:44] BUT!!! Alot of people have seen him around [ (X) ninja-sneaky-looking.anim]**  
**[8:47:01] his haunt rn seems to be WAYNE STATE**  
**[8:47:29] he likes to hit up the uni neighborhood around there to meet with his clients. People have seen him go by the shops by the two big libraries and the art museum**  
**[8:47:35] ^ detroit arts institute**  
**[8:47:58] so if you got an address on him that's by that area that's your best bet since everyone thinks he's going back and forth from somewhere nearby to deal near the uni**  


**[8:48:07] good luck officer [ (X) marine-uniform-saluting.anim]**

 

Since he had been awake and aware by then, more or less, he had chosen to make his call to Scarlet as he made some breakfast for himself. Afterwards, while he was still slumped over at his kitchen table and chewing on some microwave heated precooked bacon, he received a follow up text:

 

**[9:25:22] ps. Keep an eye out on the races this weekend! Someone's going to be a BIG winner!!! [ (X) horse-galloping.anim][ (X) horse-galloping.anim][ (X) horse-galloping.anim]**

 

Yep, typical Pedro.

He shot back a quick text of his own.

**[9:27:03] Thanks Pedro**  
**[9:27:28] Talk to you later. Probably soon.**  


 

_In android news today, Caroline Phillips chose to settle outside of court for her family's longstanding wrongful death suit against Cyberlife. Back in August, the Phillips family was struck by tragedy as one of the first to be affected by the android deviancy glitch, where the family's PL600 model shot and killed husband and father John Phillips along with two Detroit Police officers who arrived at the scene. Following the further outbreak of "deviant" androids, Caroline Phillips brought a wrongful death through negligence claim on Cyberlife, asserting that Cyberlife's lack of long term android service testing and lack of programmed safeguards allowed the incident to happen._

_With most of the court hearings and now the settlement happening behind closed doors, the fate of other potential suits against the company for deaths or injuries caused by affected androids remains unclear. Members of the legal community within Detroit state that a class action lawsuit against Cyberlife remains a possibility._

 

It felt like a profoundly unsurprising resolution to that story. Even if most of the deviant androids had been peaceful, there had still been deaths, after all. There had been Carlos Ortiz, though Hank didn't know if that scumbag had any family still attached to him willing to fight it out in court. Then the two deaths connected to the Eden Club, the two chumps strangled to death by abused androids. There might even be more deaths and injuries out there that he didn't know about, even beyond guys like the crew at Stratford tower who'd been knocked around by Markus and his people or whatever happened in the raid on Jericho. It was good to see Cyberlife facing something for it, any sort of backlash at all. He doubted it'd make a difference, especially when it came to Cyberlife being the capital-T-Trillion dollar company, but he hoped whatever they had to shell out to the Phillips family stung a little.  
He turned off his car and the radio with it and grabbed his dufflebag from the footspace of the passenger seat. He'd kept a hold on his evidence for long enough, he was pushing his luck if he didn't return them. And it wasn't like he'd be needing them after everything that had happened.

 

The bullpen was quiet that morning. Jeffrey was back in his office, in the middle of a phone call that had him pacing around his desk. Gavin and the RK900 were nowhere to be seen, which had him holding off going into the evidence locker just yet. The last thing he wanted to do was go barreling in there and let Gavin catch him with his pants figuratively down.

At his desk, he found his graffiti search still open, minimized off in a corner. For now, it could wait. Instead, after a large cup of brewed coffee, he pulled up the list of apartments connected to Sid Torres. Sure enough there was indeed a rental under his name within a radius of the sprawling college grounds of Wayne State. He pulled up the address and finished his half completed warrant affidavits he'd started the day before. One search warrant for the property that'd get him in the apartment door to search for drug paraphernalia, then one arrest warrant for the man himself. He submitted them both to the local district court and within seconds received the confirmation that both documents had been received and were being processed, sent by either the automated system or an android worker on the other end of the line. One item off of his checklist.

He was able to pull up his graffiti search in the meantime as he kept his eyes on two doorways, the lobby gates and the hallway to the evidence locker. Photo after useless photo passed over his computer screen for almost half an hour before he was finally confident enough to conclude that Gavin and the android weren't dropping off evidence and wouldn't be back soon. He got up from his desk.

 

For the third time in seemingly such a short while, his evidence locker unfolded itself from the walls and pulled open into a display. He replaced the two pieces back on the shelves, as close to how they had been before as flawed human memory allowed. He was left standing in front of the shelves and the three dead deviants left behind, each just as broken as the androids the RK900 dragged in every day.

He thought back to Gavin's evidence locker, used time and time again as a temporary storage like a goddamned morgue before Cyberlife arrived to recover the remains. Compared to his own collection, the lack of any other material evidence stuck out like a sore thumb. Their raid on the grocery store especially seemed odd.

 

 _"It was kind of a halfway house for androids."_ He remembered Chris saying. _"They'd been using it to repair androids--like a clinic--before sending them somewhere else."_

 

If the RK900 hadn't recovered any material evidence to take back to the precinct, what if there was still some at the scene? Hank had been ushered out the building before he'd had a chance to look at anything beside the dead deviants and the bullet holes. If the deviants had been using it as a clinic, there might have been something left that would point him towards them. Something the RK900 might have overlooked.  
Even after he walked back to his seat with the emptied dufflebag in tow, Gavin and the android were still absent. He tossed the bag under his desk and grabbed his coffee and his car key.

 

Five days after the shootout, no one was left around the abandoned grocery store. The only things marking what had happened were the holographic bands of POLICE DO NOT CROSS lines that flickered in and out as he passed through them. The door was unlocked and squealed as it swung shut behind him. It was surprisingly bright inside. There were portable floodlights dotting in the interior of the grocery store, each hooked up to solar generators outside, their chords coiling and wedged into the corners of doorframes and through windows. Like this, Hank could get a clear look of everything. The first thing he noticed was the dust, or the lack thereof. In the corners and beneath shelves there was still a heavy, almost caked on layer of yellow-gray dust, but in the aisles were trails and paths where it had clearly been swept away from both people walking to and fro and manual cleaning.

The second thing he noticed was the rust brown smear going from the center aisle all the way to the doorway where he had dragged Chris out. Right next to the center splatter where Chris had been downed, Hank found a small placard and a holographic extruder. That was new. A placard was typical of DPD forensics crew but the hologram attachment wasn't. He stepped over the blood trail, dropping down into a kneel to activate the controller. There was a brief pop and crackle of bluish light that wavered and materialized, taking the position of where Chris had laid across the floor.

A modern day chalk outline, rendered eerily in a vague, polygonal humanoid form.

Like the evidence in Gavin's locker, the RK900 had apparently annotated the hologram, text appearing near the image of the body, identifying Chris' full name and badge number. The two bullet wounds on the human figure were annotated with the numbers 1 and 2. Beneath Chris' description was a virtual panel with _[VIEW MORE]_ writen on top of it. Curious, he tried using a common flicking motion on top of the button to get it to bring up the additional information.  
The description stayed the same but the Chris on the ground disappeared, and he was left looking around in confusion. When he glanced over his shoulder, he spotted where the hologram had adjusted itself. Behind one set of shelves, there were two figures. One limp in the other's arms, and another, labeled with his own name and badge number. Hank Anderson, displayed as another faintly flickering blue ghost. Now there was _[VIEW PREVIOUS]_ and another _[VIEW MORE]_. He scrolled through the next option and the hologram blotted out to be replaced with yet another, this time the two of them at the door, his own figure half clipping through, replicating when he had shouldered it open behind them. _CHRISTOPHER MILLER RECOVERED BY DETROIT EMS 402_ , the last holographic recreation noted.

Hank shut the extruder off, the lights dying down and disappearing. There were five other similar displays he could see around the building. He activated the one marking the WR600's site of death, and was greeted with another afterimage of the deceased android. Though the approximation of the body was vague, there was a much more detailed recreation of the thirium splatter beneath it, glowing pale and bright like quicksilver. An illustration for the sake of the humans who couldn't just _see it,_ Hank figured. There were four shots in the android's torso and one in his throat, the bullet impacts marked with the numbers 147 through 151. The mentions of self modifications were strangely absent, unlike the annotations the RK900 had made in the evidence locker, for whatever reason. Instead it listed the cause of death and, oddly enough, _ATTEMPTED MURDER OF LIEUTENANT HANK ANDERSON_ above the serial and model number of the android. Another _[VIEW MORE]_ option. He flicked it and the hologram snapped positions, the android image sitting up, gun in hand, frozen in place while firing it. He flinched out of reflex, caught looking down the barrel of the same gun a second time, albeit in hologram form. He realized the purpose of this additional view option after a second of thought.

There behind him, just as he'd expected, was the representation of the RK900 and himself, back up against that same shelf he had been shoved into. He got up and walked over to the two figures frozen in time, seeing the four bullet impacts indicated as 143-146 where they had struck the RK900. These too were annotated. He touched one of the displayed numbers and red shapes pulsed from inside the RK900's form in response. They looked almost like armored plates inside of it, something like a mix between human shoulder blades and an insect's exoskeleton.

_143 - Stopped by #fff131_  
_144 - Stopped by #fff135_  
_145 - Penetrated defensive layers, damaged ventilation unit #19031b_  
_146 - Stopped by #fff131_  


A touch to number 145 in particular made another, larger shape flicker between red and black inside one half of the RK900's torso. An artificial lung. Must have been what it had headed to a Cyberlife repair station for. Hank didn't remember the android having been fake-breathing or talking any differently than normal, but then again, it was an android. 

Then, beneath the list of bullet impacts,

_HANK ANDERSON - UNINJURED_

 

It was kind of funny. Outside of the context of the 'attempted murder' and from this distant angle, the RK900 almost looked like it had gone for a hug, with the way it had wrapped its arms around Hank's shoulder's and how it had crowded its chest up against his own.  
He shook his head at the thought.

 

He checked the four other displays. One of the AX700's had been the one to get the potshot on the RK900's shoulder, the moment of the successful hit also recreated with a note that the shot had been deflected by the android's defensive layers. A graze, more or less.

The WE900, the blonde android, had an additional annotation taking note of _ATTEMPTED MURDER OF OFFICER CHRISTOPHER MILLER_. Activating the secondary view pulled the holographic figure of the android from being collapsed on the floor to standing near the back of the store, a handgun raised to fire. Chris' image was standing in front of the big bloodstain, half turned as if to back away, one hand reaching for his holstered gun. Without a view of where the WE900 had kept her weapon holster Hank couldn't guess how fast she had drawn her piece, but looking at the way she had been holding it, it was probably pretty damn quick. Two shots off, _pow! pow!_ , right into Chris' chest, fired practically from the hip. Those two shots were labeled 1 and 2 on this afterimage of Chris too. 

He noticed the distance between the two of them. Only about twenty feet. Chris had been dropped only a small ways from where he had crawled to by the time Hank had arrived. At that range, it really was miraculous Chris hadn't ended up with a half dollar sized hole in his heart that would have had him bleeding out in half a minute.

He walked around to the WE900's form, looking over the ghost of her shoulder and down the boxy approximation of her handgun. Down the sights at the human approximation in front of her. Maybe not all androids had perfect aim like the RK900, but maybe Chris was right. Maybe he was merely only _wounded_ on purpose.

 

Walking back around, through the hologram image of the WE900 he could see the back of the store. He remembered it being well lit even back then during the shootout, though the floodlights left by the androids had since gone out, whatever power that was keeping them on failing or powered down sometime between then and now. But with the lights brought in by the forensics team he could see everything up close and personal. 

The area was probably the most clean out of the whole store, the floor meticulously cleared of dust. Shelves and displays had been moved and set aside to make room around a huge mechanical stand surrounded by floodlights. It was massive, looking to him like two robotic arms that had come off an old fashioned assembly line, an angled platform between them. A clinic, Chris had told him. Maybe it was the android equivalent of an operating table, something they used for repairs. There was a caustic, acrid scent around it when he inhaled. Thirium in androids was mostly inoffensive smelling, unless it was chemically treated, or there was a lot of it in one place. He wondered if this entire area was just coated with the stuff that he couldn't see.  
Each individual 'arm' of the machinery was tall and broad enough that it couldn't have fit through the store doorways, the androids must've brought it in in pieces and built it up inside. A mass of rope-thick wires were gathered at the back of the platform's base, the bundle of them snaking out in heavy coils towards the wall and the nearest outlet. A lot of electrical demand, he was guessing. There was a placard by the wire socket at the base. Each section of evidence he'd seen was marked with a numbered placard but certain objects like this didn't have a corresponding holographic notation from the RK900. After circling the entire thing he couldn't find any unusual identifying features or serial numbers on the machinery. No way for him to guess where they'd gotten it without any more information, unless someone had reported it stolen, whatever it was.

But it was there, against the back wall, that he saw something that _could_ help him.

There were cardboard boxes, stacked up into uneven towers, some open, some still sealed tight with clear masking tape. They had a number of different logos on them, some he recognized as food boxes that might have been grabbed from the back of a grocery store. Others were emblazoned with CYBERLIFE or ANDROID ZONE and other second party android related retailers. Inside the opened boxes were masses of blue and silver. Android biocomponents, some vaccuum packed in their original sealed bags, others clearly refurbished, but all were stickered with QR codes and labeled with both android model numbers and part identifications. 

Besides the box of android components, there were also opened up and emptied out coolers. Some of them were the kind people would put drinks in for parties, with a faint film of water at the very bottom where the ice had long melted down. Others were boxes that looked they'd been grabbed from a science lap or something, thick polymer frames to keep the objects inside insulated.

 

He clued in on what he was looking at instantly. Boosted parts and thirium. Bought either from lifters on the secondhand market or from employees selling 'misplaced' stock at a discount. 

This was something he could use. This was a potential lead. He brought out his phone to snap photos of the collection of goods, taking care to note the reused boxes as well. Could be a hint to who had repackaged them. There was a placard by the boxes but again no additional commentary. He wondered if this was something the RK900 was pursuing, if it had also figured out if this was a lead. He couldn't imagine the stiff, awkward robot questioning employees around the loading bays of retail stores. They sure as hell wouldn't talk to Gavin, Hank already knew first hand. No one wanted to be an informant for a guy who'd throw them to the wolves if it meant a successful case for him.

But Hank knew people. And he might be able to use this.

 

There was a final holographic extruder he hadn't noticed on the first pass, tucked behind one of the collapsed shelves the RK900 had knocked over. Which was strange, since he didn't remember there being a body there, and there didn't seem to be any evidence near it. The idea that it might be a recreation of the mysterious sixth android's path out of the building had him turning it on.  
No humanoid form appeared in front of him.

Instead, in a slow, flickering wave, a sea of numbers appeared across all the bullet ridden shelves and displays in the store. Hank finally understood the significance of the numbers 1 and 2 on Chris' hologram and the numbers 143 through 151 from the WR600. They were the identifiers of each bullet fired, numbered _apparently goddamn chronologically._

And he knew that because he was looking at the rest of them.

All across the store, each dent, each hole in the cardboard was numbered. The shots that had multiple points of penetration were signified further still with letters, like 76a to 76c. One hundred and fifty one individual bullets fired, and the RK900 had apparently kept track of every single one of them in the dark and in the middle of a fucking shootout. It had even marked the bullet holes in the fallen shelves, tracking the shot trajectories though half the store had collapsed in on itself.

Human cops were going to become extinct in the next few years. He knew that now. There was no way they could keep up with this level of ridiculous bullshit.

He was almost surprised the hologram extruder didn't come with one hundred and fifty individual buttons to recreate everyone's position at the time each bullet was fired. Guess the RK900 must have run out of fucking hologram. He switched the extruder back off with a long suffering sigh and got up to his feet again.

 

There was a man in the center aisle of the store, standing there and staring his way as the numbers each blotted out into nothingness around him.

 

Hank hadn't seen him, hadn't heard him walking in, hadn't heard the door open. Just suddenly he was _there_ and he felt a reflexive shock through his system, rising up stock straight and fast like a startled cat.

The man was covered in heavy winter clothes, layered up underneath a heavy jacket, multiple collars all peeking out of a lowered hood. Hank's first thought was that the man was a vagrant or a squatter who had somehow missed the do not cross lines, but--

The man was dark skinned, densely curled hair trimmed close to his scalp. Clean shaven, except for the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw of a skimmed over shave. And he had the cheekbones and jawline straight of a fashion magazine. Gentle brow and eyes but that jaw was downright chiseled.

 _Hank recognized his face._

He could feel the buzzing in the back of his head that he'd seen this man before but he couldn't immediately place _where._ He was good with faces normally, had to be in order to be a cop and keep track of suspects and perps on the run. So when he got that feeling he listened to it. Why did he recognize this guy?

He thought about the androids he'd seen here, in the abandoned store, but the thing was that he _hadn't_ recognized their faces, they had been changed enough that his brain didn't immediately link them to the models out there in Detroit by the thousands.

 

_Was this man an android?_

 

"Hello officer." The man flashed him a smile and halfhearted wave in greeting now that they had made eye contact. His voice was cool and calm, not a hint of nervousness to it.  
There was no LED on his uncovered brow, not that Hank was expecting there to be. There was nothing visibly indicating he was anything more than a human who had walked into the building. Hank opened his mouth briefly, exhaled, fumbled for words to say. How should he even respond to that?

 

_If he was an android, a deviant, was he in danger?_

 

Chris' bloodstain was spread out over the flooring in between them.

Under all the winter clothes, Hank had no way of knowing if the man had a concealed weapon on him. He could feel the android's gaze slide briefly over his own frame, his own service weapon hanging more heavily in its holster at his hip. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled with unease. Warning signs. He decided to address him directly, but play ignorant. "Hey, sorry, this is still an active crime scene." He began. "If you need a safe place to stay, there's a shelter nearby I can drive you to." A genuine offer if the man was just a vagrant.

The man's smile cracked into a wider, charming smile. Showing him a flash of perfect flawless teeth. "Oh no, I'm fine. I got a place around here. I just heard about the big shootout that happened here and I wanted to take a look around." His gaze shifted to somewhere behind Hank. The biocomponents, he immediately assumed.

If the stranger was a deviant, he might have decided to come back for them, and might have missed Hank's car out in the front. Or maybe he might have recognized it and come in anyway.

For one long moment, Hank was caught in place, unsure. If the man was a deviant, could he reach out to him? Offer to help him and the other deviants? Would identifying him as an android provoke the man into an attack? If not, then would he be willing to trust him?

What if he was wrong and he wasn't even an android at all?

The uneasy feeling intensified, winding tight in his stomach. He didn't know why he recognized the man or why he was here, and he wasn't sure what was the smart play in the space between them.

 

Then, in the musty air of the store, his phone chimed, the sound echoing off the empty walls. 

Hank sucked in a sharper breath, reaching down into his pocket on reflex to peek at his notifications, guided more by reflex than actual thought.

**Gary**  
**[11:20:15] I'm opening my cart from 2 to 6 if you want lunch.**  


Unlike Pedro, Gary never put any information related to cases or inquiries on his texts. Just simple messages informing Hank of a time and place they could talk with the implication that he had found something. He caught the stranger shifting at the edge of his peripherals, and in the span of a second he made a decision. 

He raised the phone up, quick-dialed Pedro's number and held it up to his ear. "Sorry, I have to take this." The man raised an eyebrow at him as the dial tone rang from the phone. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't disturb any of the evidence."

"Of course," He answered after him, watching him as Hank walked out of the center aisle and back towards where he came in from. He could feel the stranger's eyes on his back as he pressed a hand to the door. 

The line clicked. "Hank! Hey man. What are you calling me for? Shouldn't you be at work?"

Tension immediately poured from his body hearing the other man's voice as he stepped out the door and outside. "Listen." He didn't stop moving until he had made it to his car, ducking down into the driver's seat. The door behind him remained closed. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thanks for the tip this morning, but there's something else I need you to look into for me. Can you meet me at the Chicken Feed between two and six?" This time he remembered his appointment, "Shit, wait, I mean two and five."

"Uhhh." Pedro hesitated on the other end of the line. "Today?"

"Yes." He replied, flatly, "Today."

"I mean, sure, I guess. I'll drop by at two. That good?"

"Yeah. I'll see you then."

"See you later, Hank!" Pedro chimed back before hanging up, leaving him alone and breathing slower and easier in his car. 

Nothing had happened. The guy hadn't come after him and hadn't come walking out the building as Hank had sat in his car. If he had been in danger, he was out of it. If he hadn't, then... he might have just missed his chance to get in contact with the deviants. Was staying back the right choice? He didn't know. He hesitated, his hands resting on the steering wheel. 

 

Next time, he'd be ready to approach, once he knew what situation he was walking into. 

 

He pulled out of the parking lot, and left the abandoned store behind.

 

 

"I found the guy you were asking about." Gary began. It was bright and sunny out, other people standing at the small prop up tables near the food cart. Steam drifted out the back of the oven vents on the cart, and some passerbys even stood in the white cloud, catching bits of the residual warmth. "He's not happy I'm telling you about him, so be nice."

"Please." Hank spread his arms out, "When am I ever not nice?"

"You want an example or a list?"

They both laughed over his burger, and Gary passed him a slip of paper. It had an address and time on it. No name, just a place and a when.

"Is he going to be hostile with me?" He had to ask.

Gary shook his head. "He's expecting you to be a rat. Give him a reason to believe otherwise." His reputation on the streets had always been a mixed bag. Some people considered him trustworthy or at least down to earth. A lot of guys avoided him like the plague. Everyone had their reasons for whether or not they wanted to interact with Hank Anderson's particular brand of dirty cop.

 

Pedro was half an hour late, rushing up to the Chicken Feed and breathing heavily when he reached the counter. By then Hank had already eaten and drained his soda down to the ice and watery mixture at the very bottom of the cup. 

"Sorry I'm late, I got held up. Next time you got to give me more notice, man. I've got things going on."

"No you don't." Gary called out from inside the cart, earning a dirty look from the other man.

"Don't listen to him, I've been busy lately. What do you got for me, Hank?" 

He had a bunch of things on his plate now, he'd realized. He had the pictures of the biocomponents on his phone but also the graffiti tag on his house. The implicit threat on his doorstep that he was fully intending to provoke further. "You ever hear about a place called Scarlet?"

Pedro blinked his eyes, brow bunching up as he thought it over. "As in, the club?"

"Yeah, Club Scarlet."

"The freaky android sex club?" Pedro's eyes slowly widened to a look of shock, awe, and horror. A realization had apparently dawned on him. "Holy shit you weren't kidding about the android hookers! You weren't joking! Hank, what have you been _up to?"_

Hank held up his hand, doing his best to shush him. Gary was poking his head out from over the counter in curiosity, and he could feel passerbys giving them second glances. "It's not what you think, alright? It's for an investigation."

The other man let out a choking sound as he grinned around a barely contained laugh. "If you say so."

"I do say so. I need you to look into the club for me."

"Yeah but, that place is on the Riverfront." He gestured at his chest, and the neon coat he wore everywhere, "You think a guy like me fits in there?"

Hank drew his anticipated wad of cash, shoving it into Pedro's chest. "Take a day trip on me. I'm sure you can make it work."

"I--" Most of the protests he had died out as he pocketed the cash. "Okay, sure, fine. I got a friend down river I can bug about it, even if he kind of hates me."

"How is he your friend if he hates you?" Gary asked, still bent over so he could catch the conversation.

"Well, you know, you have friends and then you have _friends_." Pedro circled one hand, as if that explained everything. "So what do you want me to look into while I'm there, anyways?"

Hank balled up his trash in his hands, mashing his cup down into a compact wad. "I need you to ask about any shady dealings the club has had. Ice deals. Disappearances. Anything they've swept under the rug. I've searched on my end and come up with nothing. I don't believe that for a second."

Pedro huffed out a sharp exhale. "Yeah, me neither. A place like that probably deals in Ruby Red in every back room. Hell, that's probably where its name came from."

He was likely right. Yet another reminder of how much the Red Ice Task force had managed to accomplish in the end: fuck all. After everything they'd done, all the dealers and distributors they had put away, Red Ice was still everywhere. From users like Leo Manfred getting beaten by their dealers to high class connoisseurs getting high in the back of extravagant clubs. 

 

Or surgeons, in the middle of their shifts.

 

"Shit, man. I didn't mean to bring you down." Pedro's gaze had softened with sympathy.

"No." He shook his head. "It's not you. It's just been... honestly, without a doubt, this past week has been the _shittiest_ week I've had all year."

"Worse than when Cyberlife stuck you with that android cop?" Pedro tried cracking a joke.

That one stung.

"A lot worse."

"Well, hey." Pedro gave him another pat on the shoulder. "You want my advice? Do something fun for a change. When's the last time you've done something for fun, huh?"

Long enough that it was hard to imagine.

"Detroit's still going to be there after if you take a day off, right?"

Hank looked down at the address Gary had given him. "Probably."

 

 

It was almost surreal to be back on Acre Avenue in the daytime. It had a different feel to it on the sidewalks as opposed to the streets or on the rooftops. A lot of people out and about, even in the icy weather, along with uniformed androids carrying equipment to and fro. Even some kids playing around in ice covered bushes, 'Baby Doom' be damned. Supposedly Urban Farms had brought some life back into this area of town, even if negative press he'd read on it claimed the company only hired handfuls of humans to oversee the leagues of androids actually doing the hard labor. 

Even then it was still a relative dead zone near the abandoned apartments Rupert had taken refuge in, which probably explained why this contact had chosen to meet with him near there. He spotted him right at the address he'd been given, sitting down on a weathered looking wrought iron outdoor table. The man was bundled up like everyone else was, hands stuffed into his pockets and a hood pulled up over his head. He'd taken extra steps to cover his face and not for the sake of the cold, a scarf wrapped up over his nose and mouth, sunglasses covering up his eyes. Hank couldn't read any of his facial features underneath the makeshift disguise, but he could feel when the man turned his head his way that they'd made eye contact. Hank didn't wave or make any other indication that he'd seen him beyond a nod of his head, and crossed the sidewalk to approach him. The man rose from his seat, coming to a stand in the shadow of the building behind him.

For a stretch of time, neither of them said anything, and Hank was acutely aware of how cold it was even through his layers of clothing.

"I'm not giving you my name. You can call me Harrier if you have to call me anything." The man finally spoke up, muffled faintly through the layers of cloth. 

Hank raised his hands in a brief show of surrender. "That's fine by me. My name's Hank Anderson, here's my badge." Identifying himself was always part of the trust fall aspect. His way of meeting his contacts halfway. 

"Are you bugged?" The stranger raised his chin, tipping his head back to regard him.

Hank pulled out his cell phone to show him. "Just this." He set it aside, face up, so the stranger could feel more secure in whether or not he was being monitored. "You can take me at my word that I'm not bugged or you can do whatever you have to until you feel convinced. Or you can just not say anything incriminating. Up to you."

There was the tiniest tilt to the man's head as he scanned over him. Even though Hank couldn't see his eyes he could tell he was being looked over. Then his head turned, moving to look at one side of the street then the other. Searching for accomplices. After another moment, Harrier seemed satisfied. "What do you want?"

"I'm guessing my friend showed you the ID I'm interested in."

"Obviously."

"Did you sell it?"

That earned him a thoughtful pause, and he could almost see the gears turning in the man's head. Up this close to him, he could smell the cigarettes he smoked, likely daily, enough to stain the pale collar of one of his underlayers a darker yellow-brown in patches. "Why does it matter if I did?"

Hank reached into his pocket to get his cash bundle. The second part of his meeting contacts halfway. He barely had a chance to extend it in offering when Harrier reached out a gloved hand and snatched it out of his palm. "The man we caught in possession of this fake ID was an android. Did you know he was an android?"

Another pause, a slightly shorter hesitation. "No, and I don't sell to androids."

That was an unusually phrased denial. "Do androids regularly try to buy papers from you?" He felt a flicker of interest at the thought. If he was in touch with a community of androids, even incidentally--

"No." Harrier snapped back, more insistently. "I meant I didn't know he was an android and I wouldn't have sold it to him if I had known."

Well, there was the direct confirmation he was looking for, at least. "Do you mind telling me exactly what happened when this Rupert Travis approached you for a fake ID? As much as you remember."

After letting out a short growl of frustration, the man shook his head, turning away from Hank. "Happened a few weeks before all the rest of the androids started going haywire. Apparently this punk kid had been poking around, trying to find out where he could get a fake ID and people pointed me in his direction. He..." The man trailed off, and even under the sunglasses he could see him furrow his brow. "You've seen the ID. You know what he looks like. --What it looked like." The man quickly corrected himself.

"Yeah, he was a WB200 model android."

"Why the fuck did Cyberlife make them look that young?" Harrier let out a snort of apparent distaste. "I thought androids were all supposed to be a replacement for workers, or whatever. Those B-200s look like kids."

He didn't bother correcting the model number. "You thought he was a kid." he concluded, based on his words.

Harrier shrugged his shoulders, dismissively. "He didn't even have enough money for my going price. Had about half of it in cash. Promised me that he'd be able to pay me the rest of the fee in a week."

Hank fought back a dry, rumble of a laugh. "You sold him an ID at half price? What made you do that?" Though tracking down smugglers and forgers wasn't his thing, he was familiar enough with the undercurrent of the economy to know that none of them got by selling papers for half off.

The man raised a glove hand halfway into the air, "I don't know the 'politically correct' way of saying this, but..." He trailed off as Hank's eyebrows shot straight up. "Uh." He fumbled on his words instead, shoving his hand back into his pockets. "What I mean is, he didn't seem all that right in the head. Mentally. Like he was 'on the spectrum', or something."

Well, he'd been expecting to hear worse. After being in Rupert's living space and seeing his diary, he couldn't really disagree with the assessment. Could androids be mentally ill like humans could? "How do you mean, exactly?"

"I mean he talked weird. Didn't make eye contact once the entire time I was talking with him. So." Another roll of his shoulders, "I thought he was some mentally ill homeless kid. Or a runaway. Get a few of those every now and then wanting to start a new life. How was I supposed to know it was an android?"

"I'm guessing he never paid you back."

It earned a wet, wheezy laugh from the man. "Yeah no shit. He took the ID and ran. Fucking plastic. That's how it goes, you know? Stick your neck out for someone and you'll get your head cut off. I felt bad because he--it kind of reminded me of my own kid. That's the only reason I sold the papers to it, alright?"

Hank blinked. "You got a son of your own out there?"

Belatedly, Harrier seemed to register what Hank was asking, and he bristled a little under all his winter clothes. "He's not in Detroit, don't get your hopes up, officer."

Again, he raised his hands up to pacify him. "Just curious."

"Yeah, sure."

"He moved out of home recently?"

Harrier hesitated again, his head tilting away from Hank before looking back to him. Weighing his options, maybe. "No. It was a while ago. Got out of Detroit to go to school to be an engineer. Moved to one of the cities on that fancy SubLine they built."

Like that, it was easy for Hank to connect the two images Harrier was making for him. A young son, out far away from home. A young man seemingly on the run from a bad situation, looking for help. The grief in him ached in sympathy. "Have you talked to him recently?"

Under the glasses and all the protective, anonymous layers, Harrier glared at him. "None of your fucking business."

 

Hank should have expected that reaction, but he also didn't want to back down. "Life's pretty lonely out in those transit cities, I hear. Maybe you should give him a call." He didn't know anything about this stranger or his son. Maybe Harrier was a scumbag and his son had run as far away as he could from him. But maybe his son had left home seeking some of the few bright spots left in the world and his father had been left feeling alone. A father that missed his son enough to help out an android who was also just trying to get by.

"Like I said, it's none of your business. You got anything else you want to ask from me or are we done?"

"Yeah, one more thing. Have you sold any papers to any other androids since then?"

"I already told you, no. I wouldn't sell to an android. Fuck them."

"Have any other androids come to you looking to buy?"

The stranger's scrutinizing glare intensified at him. "No." That time he didn't hesitate, so Hank couldn't be sure if that was the truth or a lie. Hank was inclined to take him at his word. He doubted any deviants would approach a guy like him openly as androids if they approached him at all. Still, he had to wonder.

"Alright," He decided to leave it at that. "That's all I needed to know. Thanks for your cooperation." He went to grab his phone and take his leave to head back to where his car was parked at the side of the street.

"Hey." Harrier called at his back, and Hank turned around to look his way. The man had already fished a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, fidgeting it between his two hands. "What happened to the B-200 anyways?"

"Rupert?"

"Yeah, 'Rupert'. Helped pick out that name for him, you know. What happened to him?"

A half smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "He got away. I don't know if you heard about it, but we chased him through half of Urban Farms."

"Of course I heard about it. It was all anyone in the neighborhood would talk about for weeks. Everyone thought they'd turned the 'Farms into a movie set for some action film. Two parkour robots and a fat fuck out of shape cop chasing after them."

The blatant and unrepentant insult startled a full, self depreciating laugh out of Hank. "Oh gee, thanks pal."

"...But the android got away?"

"Yeah. He did."

Harrier looked back at him for a while longer. If he was smiling, Hank couldn't tell. Then he turned away from him, offering only a short wave of one hand for a goodbye. 

 

 

 

Between his nerve wracking visit to the shootout crime scene, dropping by the Chicken Feed and meeting with Gary's contact, Hank had spent the entire day in and out of the precinct, unable to commit to anything for very long. He'd reviewed a handful of other Red Ice cases and dragged himself through enough graffiti case files to make his brain feel like mush. Finally, the alarm he'd set sounded, and he closed down his workspace to head out for the day.

 

One change of clothes and some personal grooming later, he finally found himself back at Scarlet. 

That night, it was as picturesque as all the images of it he'd seen in online galleries, water fountains running with soft, soothing noises barely audible above the nearby rush of cars. The bouncers let him through, and he was back on the main floor as androids worked the poles on the stages. He was more aware of the people in the booths, then. Wondering if any of them had been the person behind the warning scrawled across the door. He bunched up his shoulders, holding himself higher. Daring any of the fuckers to make good on the threat.

It was six o clock sharp, and the RK800 was waiting for him in one of the chairs in the lobby for the private rooms, all dressed up in the same dress shirt and slacks Hank had demanded from him. LED glowing a contented blue, the android rose from his seat to greet him. "Hello, Hank. You're right on time. It is good to see you again.

"Mister Anderson!" Jacoby called out to him, interrupted from his tablet fiddling by the RK800 speaking up. "You really must not want these keys, huh?" The kid held them up over the counter, to show he still had them.

"I'm-- geez, I'm sorry." Hank smoothed a hand over his scalp. "Truth is, I got completely shitfaced last time around." He didn't even have to make up an excuse this time, considering that _was_ the reason why he hadn't returned for his keys. "Thankfully your android here was kind enough to drive me home safe and sound."

Jacoby blinked, brow pinching just a little as he looked between him and the RK800. "Aren't you the guy who drives that old manual vehicle in the parking lot?"

"Uh." Shit, he'd been hoping that wasn't something anyone here would ever connect to him. Served him right for driving the old clunker everywhere. "Yeah, that's me."

The kid's focus slid right back to the android, giving him an oddly serious look. "How'd you manage that?"

The RK800's smile was completely unflagging. "According to my logs, I was able to download a manual vehicle driving protocol from Cyberlife's database for the sake of safely transporting Mister Anderson to his home." He explained.

Jacoby relaxed back into his seat. "Ah, yeah. Good job with that, Dollface. That's the kind of quality service we offer here at Scarlet, can't find it anywhere else." And Hank had thought Evelyn's selling of the club was unenthusiastic. Jacoby waved a dismissive hand their way. "Be sure to clear out the protocol afterwards and verify the integrity of the rest of them, Dollface."

"Yes sir."

"Mister Anderson, go ahead and fill out your settings as usual. You know how it goes, my gentleman."

He took the tablet from him, looking over the exact same settings he'd thumbed through enough times by now.

 _"Connor"_ , the top most option remained as he had left it. He tapped on it once to pull up the prompt to change it.  
But what would he even call the RK800? He'd always been bad with names. He'd left it to other people, or random chance, or word associations and right then he couldn't think of any other name in his head but one.  
He closed the prompt, reverting the half started chance. He confirmed everything and handled the tablet back to the kid over the counter.

 

Then, Hank was left with the android he'd rented. The android he had nothing planned for.

The android that wasn't Connor.

 

For the first time, he allowed himself to just take the RK800 at face value, looking at him like he was meeting the android for the first time instead of just seeing him as Connor. The android had a relaxed, at ease posture to him that he hadn't really noticed before, loose limbed, an off center cant to his head that had the forelock of glossy curled hair falling onto his brow. Charming, he guessed. There was a lot of pink in his cheeks. Not enough to make him look flushed but enough to make him look warm and rosy. He strayed near Hank, but not close enough to actually touch him, looking to him with his deep brown eyes for direction.

"Come on." He threw a thumb back at the door behind them.

 

He led the android back out into the parking lot to his car, unlocking the passenger side so the other could take his seat opposite of him. He started the engine to turn on the heater, resting his hands on the steering wheel. "So, uh." He glanced over to where the RK800 had buckled himself in and was sitting with his hands neat in his lap. 

_Do something fun for a change._

"Where exactly do other people take you for outings?"

The android blinked twice, LED flitting yellow for half a second. Hank raised his hands, already anticipating his objection, so he cut him off before he could throw another legal disclaimer his way. "Hey, I'm not asking about specific customers or places you've gone today. I'm asking in general. Examples."

After blinking a third time, a look of understanding passed over his face. "Oh, of course. The most common place for customers would be their homes."

Hank let out a snort, considering the two of them had visited there already. "Anything besides that?"

"Another frequent choice would be to take an escort android to a restaurant as an accompaniment."

"Wait, seriously?" He scrunched up his face a little. "But you guys can't even eat. People just take you out on dates where they eat food while you watch and do nothing for half an hour?" That just sounded sad to him more than anything.

"Well, we can't _eat_ , exactly." He began, as Hank raised an eyebrow at him, "But for the sake of entertaining patrons in those scenarios, we do come installed with small compartments that can hold servings of masticated food."

"Masticated." He repeated, "As in...?"

"Meaning chewed and swallowed."

He already knew where this was going, but morbid curiosity was dragging him helplessly along behind it. "And... what do you do with it afterwards?"

"We expel the food waste from the compartment via--"

"Ah fuck," His body immediately revolted at the concept, chest shaking into a quick dry heave and a cough. "I knew I shouldn't have asked." He wiped a hand over his mouth as the android looked back at him with an expression of concern. The idea of people hiring androids to not only just sit across a table from them and pretend to eat food, but to then have the androids vomit it all back up later sure was a goddamn commentary on something or other. "Yeah, we're definitely not doing that. So, what else beside going out to eat?"

"I can accompany you to any venue that allows android entry. If you'd like, I could search the nearby area for locations based on your preferences."

He'd been to a lot of locations in Detroit over the years. Music clubs, concerts, museums, even art galleries when he had a friend dragging him along. He used to go out and see movies, back when they still had theatrical releases. "Where do you feel like going?" He asked, without thinking.

It was enough to turn the android's LED yellow and he flashed Hank his mechanical look of disapproval. "I don't have any preferences of my own. But if you like, you could give me categories and price ranges and I could genera--"

"Can't you just," he threw his hands in the air in front of him, "Pretend for a second that you do have preferences?" He'd figured androids could do that, after all. Part of their appeal was being able to play roles humans gave them, wasn't it?

 

_I'm whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant._

 

He hitched, frowning to himself. No. It wasn't right for him to throw a demand to _just act human_ onto the RK800. It was an android trying its best at its assigned tasks and playing along with Hank's bullshit. Bullshit that Hank himself no longer had any real investment in. He should at least throw the android a bone for putting up with him. "Uh." He spoke up again before the android could give him a response, his LED still stuck in yellow, caught on trying to process what Hank was asking from him. "Concert hall, bar, theatre. Pick something out of the three. Even if you have to pick it at random or whatever."

The RK800's expression slid back into a pleasant smile, LED flickering a more rapid _I'm calculating!_ yellow before popping back into blue. "I would like to go to a theater with you, Hank, if that is alright."

He sounded so upbeat about it, Hank couldn't help but crack a fleeting smile of his own. "Alright, theater it is."

 

 

Of course the theaters that were still around weren't anything like the huge auditoriums he'd grown up with. As streaming and subscription services for home use continued to grow in and creep on theatrical releases, big screens started collapsing under their own weight. Soon movies were streaming release only, often coming to theaters in limited sections or for two weeks at a time to qualify for film awards. As film awards changed structure to accommodate the new breed of streaming based media, soon a lot of movie releases discarded theaters entirely. 

Hank couldn't say he missed everything about movie theaters. Towards the end of their lifespans they were absurdly overpriced, used as a vehicle to sell even more overpriced snacks, stupid 3D gimmicks, packed with ads, and often times just kind of dirty in general. But still, he did missed the feeling of seeing a new release on a big screen, especially with friends.

The new age theaters didn't exactly capture that magic. By and large, they were completely scaled down, with a not-so-large screen suited for showing off to twenty or so seats, like a snazzy home entertainment room some rich people had in their houses. They were mostly used as a place to host parties, where people would get a bunch of their friends together and just marathon the Lord of the Rings movie franchises or stuff like that. Instead of purchasing tickets for shows, people just rented the viewing rooms out to play what they wanted. They weren't bad, they just weren't what they used to be, he guessed.

"Don't suppose you have a movie you want to see?" He asked the android as he pulled into a parking spot outside the building. There were a few young people heading in and out of the theater with their friends, but it was mostly pretty abandoned looking. The weather had more people choosing to stay home in all likelihood. 

"I've never seen a movie before." The RK800 got out of the car after him, walking along by his side. "That I can remember, in any case."

He grunted, tipping his shoulders, "I was joking." Of course the android wouldn't remember any movie trailers or ads even if he had seen any before.

"Is there a film you would like to watch with me?" The RK800 shot another smile his way, undeterred as usual. "What kind of films do you like?"

He raised his head, gazing out at the street lamps that were still decorated with strands of lights and fake evergreen boughs. "I used to watch a lot of Christmas movies this time of year." He admitted. A lot of old classic children's films. He remembered going over his old collection of nostalgic cartoons with Cole, most of them light and fluffy. Fit for a little kid. It was hard to think about sitting on the couch together after opening presents, watching various incarnations of Rudolph and Santa and other characters. "A bit too late for that now, though."

Despite whatever look he must have had on his face, the RK800 seemed spurred on by the idea. "It's only December twenty seventh." He reminded him. "I do not think it be that late to watch a Christmas one. What's your favorite?"

"What's my favorite Christmas movie?" He repeated, lips pulling back into a smirk. He did have one favorite, one he had never gotten the chance to show to Cole since it was about the opposite of kid friendly. "Die Hard." 

"Die Hard?" The android repeated, LED spinning yellow briefly as he apparently felt the need to double check that claim.

"It's a Christmas movie!" He gestured towards the theater doors, "It's the _best_ Christmas movie." He used to whip out his boxed collection of all the good Die Hards at the DPD Christmas parties. He did it so frequently its appearance was always marked by groans and cries of consternation before he seized control of the closest media device. It used to be a tradition for him, one he'd almost forgotten about.

"Okay Hank. That sounds good. I would like to watch it with you."

"I... you know what, great. That does sound good. Come on."

The equivalent of a ticket booth had been automated to the point of not even needing much _android_ presence, digital screens showing the theater rooms that were currently available. He selected one of the smaller ones and synced the theatre up with his main streaming account, his library of accessible and "owned" media popping up on the interface. He could either rent it based on a certain amount of time or pick a title and the venue would automatically calculate the run time and what to bill him.  
"So uh, can I extend my session ahead of time?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder at the RK800.

"Of course. Would you like me to extend your session through the movie's duration time of 132 minutes?"

Hank hesitated. It was an expensive, nearly five hundred dollar price tag for a single film. To sit in a tiny theater with an android who wouldn't even remember it in eight hours.

 _Do something fun for a change._

 

_It won't matter much anyways._

 

"What the hell." He tipped his shoulders. "Screen 12. Let's do this."

 

The room interior was surprisingly... nice. The entire thing was angled on a set of downward steps, a regular screening room in miniature. The chairs were all plush and fake leather, probably to be easy to clean in between sci fi nerds marathoning and drunken dickheads catching the latest serial drama that everyone was obsessed over at the time. He picked out the spot he liked the best, high up and near the back of the room, sidling himself on in to sit down. It was surprisingly comfortable, cozy even.

The RK800 followed him, and he could feel the android's gaze on him as he sat down in the seat directly adjacent to him. True to his word, the android didn't touch him, simply laying his hands over the arm rest and facing the screen. He could see his blue LED dim down to a much lower level than he'd ever seen it before.

"I could sit on your opposite side if it still bothers you," The RK800 offered, having caught him staring at it. 

"No, it's fine. It doesn't bother me." He had a small remote given to him as part of his rental, and he hit the switch to shut the lights off. Old fashioned LEDs on the edge aisle stairs turned on as the theater grew dark. "Get ready to enjoy the best damn Christmas movie ever made, C--" He caught himself that time, the single syllable hitching in his throat. He could see the android smile back at him in the faint blue glow of his LED. 

He clicked the remote in the heavy silence, and the movie rolled.

 

 

Though part of him hated to admit it, he did feel a little better walking out of the theater. Other guys that knew him liked to make fun of him for being a 'nostalgia junkie', and maybe there was some truth to that (between the old cars, the old music, the pen and paper, the in person communication, physical books...) The RK800 had been good viewing company. He hadn't made any commentary but he occasionally cracked a wider smile when Hank laughed at his favorite parts, and when Hank looked his way to see the android's reaction, he had looked... well, engaged, he guessed. 

 

"Well? What do you think? Good movie?"

"I found it very enjoyable, Hank."

"Oh yeah? What did you enjoy about it?"

He could see the android's head tilt in thought, probably crunching numbers on how to best describe the qualities of the movie. "As an action film, it continuously built tension, while also giving moments of levity so as to not be too overwhelming to the viewer. The performances of the actors were also very strong. Everything lent itself to a satisfying and quite dramatic conclusion at the very end, resolving all the interwoven plot and character threads in the process."

Hank wouldn't have been surprised if the RK800 had just cribbed that from a list of reviews and ran it through an algorithm. "So it was full of energy, huh?"

The android's eyes crinkled with his smile. "Yes, you could say that. I also now understand why you and others consider it to be a Christmas film. It is because of the time the film takes place in, the decorative imagery on sets, and the framing of the premise."

He huffed out a laugh. "You got it."

He wondered if androids could actually enjoy music and media. Did deviants go through libraries of songs in their heads? He knew Markus read poetry. Ortiz' android had done the carvings.

Maybe the RK800 really had enjoyed it, in some way. 

"Let's get you home already." Hank stopped midstep as he spoke the words, one foot extended in front of the other. The android halted soon after, waiting at his side with a curious look on his face. Christ, had he really let himself treat this like he was taking a friend for an outing? Or a near stranger on a date? He reminded himself that he'd _rented_ the android from a sex club. For no reason other than to provoke the people out there who had their eyes on him. "Fuck, I mean." He shook his head, baring his teeth. "Just come on."

 

 

 

"Well, well, well. You finally came back for your keys."

Hank outstretched his hand across the counter, and for the first time in three days he had his house keys back. What a surreal, miserable fucking journey. "Thanks for holding them for me." He slid his car key back into the ring and put them away. It was a nice weight in his pocket he'd been missing ever since. 

The RK800 was lingering in the lobby, he raised a hand to touch over his throat before letting it come to rest at his side. When Hank met his gaze, he raised his head to offer him a warm look in return. "Thank you again, Hank. I had a good time."  
He could feel his ears prickle at Jacoby's presence behind him, a bubble of embarrassment rising in his chest.

Still, the android almost sound like he meant that. He reached out, giving him a pat on the shoulder. The android's eyes tracked his hand to the brief moment of contact. "Yeah. Me too."

He gave the android a final wave as he headed for the hallway back towards the exit. "You take care of yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another super late super big chapter!
> 
> This one again took me much longer than I had planned as I had a lot of ground to cover.  
> Bonus points if anyone recognizes the guy Hank encountered in the store. Here's the hint: he's the android most dangerous to humans besides Markus, Connor or North.
> 
> The next chapter is probably also going to be a little late since I'm going to be lighting a fire under my butt to get some things done (late) for the DBH Rarepair Week, so stay tuned.
> 
> And also be prepared, because starting with the next chapter things are going to start ramping up and they won't be calming back down for quite some time!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	10. ARCHIVE CORRUPTION

Another morning waking up sober. 

 

He felt a little less shitty pulling himself out of bed, feeding Sumo and himself. He mustered the energy to step in the shower, wash his body and his hair for the first time in a while. He drank a cup of coffee and brushed his teeth, his reflection surrounded by his old post it notes.

He felt alright, really.

 

He'd spent the morning thinking about the night before with the RK800. His bank account was in shambles, and in retrospect it really hadn't been worth the money he'd thrown away that night. At this rate, he could have bought a whole entire android for the amount of cash he'd pissed away at Club Scarlet. Still, he kept replaying the conversation afterwards in his head, the android's canned praise of the movie, and how happy he had acted about it. Before everything, he would have just waved it off as some high level social programming, the RK800 just following some not so finely tuned computer instruction for how to act. Now, he couldn't help but wonder what was going on in the android's brain. Every deviant was a regular android at first, right? Was the RK800 aware of himself in there? Of anything?

He shouldn't be the one thinking about this sort of thing. He was a guy who struggled with anything more complex than idiot proof apps on his phone. How was he supposed to be contemplating android consciousness? Even so, he kept trying to wrap his head around it, wondering how life was for the RK800, or any android.

 

Before he left the house, he called up Club Scarlet again, sitting through the same stupid hold tone and placing another reservation for that evening. He had yet to get the reaction he'd been hoping for, after all. Someone out there still had it out for him, and if he could find something dirty on Scarlet itself in the process, all the better still.

 

 

 

When he arrived at the precinct, the RK900 and Reed were already at the bullpen. Gavin was sitting at his desk, the android standing on the opposite side, hands braced over the surface between them. They were talking, and the first handful of words he caught had his ears itching to listen.

"I don't know about this. It's a fffucking stretch and I don't want Jeffrey getting up my ass over public space searches."

"It's not a stretch, Detective." The RK900 returned, voice insistent and firm. "The images I recovered from the android's memory narrows down the potential location to one place and one place alone."

"Yeah but," Gavin grimaced, rubbing the peaks of his knuckles over one eyelid. "How do you know the images weren't, I don't know, just pulled off of the internet somewhere?"

"A simple pass for matches with cached images online eliminated that possibility. Furthermore the interior view of the vehicles such as the VS-300 suggest the android viewer to be an employee, a contractor, or otherwise an individual who works to ensure preservation and cleaning of the displays. I believe there is a distinct possibility they may be using mechanical repair facilities within the--" The RK900 cut itself off, its gaze snapping to Hank across the room, and he felt abruptly and remarkably _pierced_.

It took Gavin just barely a tick to realize what the android was looking at, and as soon as he turned his head and met Hank's eyes, his expression folded into a glare, his lips pressing together into a thin line. Now that he was noticed, all Hank could do was look right back at the two of them, tilting his chin up in a wordless challenge. Gavin answered it by looking at the RK900, gesturing with a jerk of his head towards the opposite doorway for the android to follow him. He rose from his seat and the RK900 obeyed without hesitation, trailing just behind him.

The android's steel gray eyes lingered on Hank as it looked back over its shoulder. He could just barely catch its words as they retreated. "Please, Detective. Ask for the search warrant."

"Yeah, whatever. But if Jeffrey busts my balls over this I'm putting it on you."

"Understood."

 

He was left with what the RK900 described repeating in his head as he sat down at his desk. They were looking into some public space, somewhere with a lot of machinery. More importantly, somewhere in Detroit there was a deviant android hiding out, and the RK900 was currently on its trail.

He pulled up a search prompt on his computer terminal, then thought better of it. Instead he pulled out his phone. "VS-300" was, surprisingly, not an android model number. Instead he was greeted with photographs of one of the earliest helicopter prototypes. Half of the photographs were old timey black and white images of its test flights, the other of its apparent final resting place sitting on wooden flooring under warm toned studio lights.

The Henry Ford Museum, a celebration of all things mechanical in America.

Instantly he understood Gavin's hesitation when it came to searching the premises. The Museum was privately owned, meaning the DPD would have to touch base with the foundation that currently owned the gallery, if Jeffrey did give the okay for it. 

_The RK900 was hunting a deviant._ He kept tugging on the thought like it was a loose scab. 

He couldn't exactly tell Jeffrey not to let them search the place. But what if he got there first?

His thoughts were interrupted by a ping on his desktop. His warrants had been processed and both had been approved by the district court. The arrest warrant had been attached to Torres' profile for traffic cops to keep an eye on and he had one neatly filed form allowing him to search the apartment under his name for drug related evidence. 

He looked between the files on his computer and the images on the phone in his hand, feeling torn. Once again he was feeling a clock ticking down over his head. He didn't have a lot of time to sit on his warrants. Not only was it possible that Torres might be on the move before long, but he also had the RK900 to deal with. The fucking android would be on him like a hawk if he took too long. And on the other hand it'd take some time for Reed to get his own warrant. As long as he acted fast...

 

He printed out both of his warrants after some coaxing to the old printer. He was probably one of the only cops in the entire country that still got hard copies of his warrants but nothing shut people up like having a physical form thrust in their faces. The printer needed toner, and it took him all across the bullpen to find where they were keeping the wrapped up blocks of it in the drawers under a desk. After a few failed test prints he finally got them made, folding up the papers and placing them in one pocket.

"Lieutenant Anderson."

He jumped at the voice directly behind him, turning around to see the RK900, standing in the center of the bullpen. "Jesus fuck." He hissed under his breath. "What the hell do you want?"

The RK900 met his gaze, staring at him with the same old neutral expression. "Are you departing to serve the warrants for the Manfred case?"

He felt his stomach drop. Yeah, the fucking android was in his case files again. "What's it to you? It's been two fucking days. Is that not fast enough for you?"

"No, Lieutenant. In fact, your prompt handling of the case is commendable." Hank had to fight back a scoff in response to that. "I merely wanted to know if you were taking backup with you to serve the warrants."

He furrowed his brow, teeth peeling back in a sneer. He opened his arms in a gesture around him. "No. I'm pretty sure it's just me."

It was subtle, but the RK900's lips tipped briefly downward. A frown of almost stern disapproval. "Sid Torres has a history of violent crime, including assault with a deadly weapon. There is potential for an arrest to turn into an altercation. I must insist that you take another person with you."

That time, he didn't hold back his scoff. "You really think that--"  
The protest died on his tongue. He hated to admit it, but the android was right. The realization hit him like a brick through a windshield. He wouldn't be going to a crime scene forensics had already been combing over like he had gotten used to while working homicide. He was going into a scene that was still hot. If the Hank Anderson of the Red Ice Task Force ten years ago could see him now, that man would probably grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "...You're right." He rubbed a hand over his face, swallowing down what he was feeling. "Shit. You're right. I'll get somebody. Uh--" Ben was already out on a crime scene himself. A lot of officers were out that morning, and no one was springing to mind.

"If you do not have anyone else to take with you, I could serve as your backup, Lieutenant." The RK900 interjected, stopping him short.

Hank's mouth fell open, and he reflexively threw a glance around towards the breakroom, expecting to see Gavin looking on. "Don't you have something else you're busy with?"

"No. My current investigation is on hold, so there is nothing else I am currently occupied with."

"...You're serious."

There wasn't any indication on the RK900's face that it was joking. "Yes."

"And Gavin's not going to--"

"While I am assigned to Detective Reed, I believe it is the DPD's policy that members of partnerships or groups can fill in other roles if needed."

He couldn't exactly argue with that, but he also couldn't stop from scrutinizing the android, looking it up and down, trying to figure out its angle. He wasn't even up to anything fishy here himself, this was his bonafide squeaky clean work, unless the RK900 had found out about his tiny informant 'network' and took umbrage with it.  
Maybe it really did mean it.

What the hell, might as well just get it over with. As long as the android wasn't planning on following him around the rest of the day. "Fine. Fine, whatever. Let me grab some stuff and we'll go."

 

Having the RK900 follow along in his wake was weirdly unsettling. Though he'd seen it flanking Gavin at times, it was trailing after him from a short distance, and he could feel it monitoring at him every step out into the DPD parking lot. Every time he threw a glance over his shoulder, it met his eyes with an impassive stare of its own. 

Fucking android.

He had the presence of mind to unlock the passenger side door for it, and it ducked down into the seat as he got into the car himself. Then he was just sitting there in his car, watching the android adjust the seat height so the top of its head wasn't scraping against the ceiling.

"My seatbelt is secured. You may start the car when you feel ready." The RK900 spoke without glancing upwards. There were a few clicks as the seat lowered. It was a small adjustment, the last person who'd been in that seat was... the RK800 the night before. The android finished, straightening itself out and lowering its hands onto its thighs, like a bad actor trying their hardest to look relaxed. "Lieutenant?"

"Yeah, got it." He snapped out his thoughts, turning on the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.

 

 

 

The RK900 was mostly silent on the drive over. In his peripherals he could see it occasionally turn its head, glancing out the passenger side window when something caught its interest. As he slowed down in the more dense University area, he saw the android reach out towards his dashboard. The android's forefinger touched the band of the hula girl's skirt, pushing down and releasing it. The plastic straw swayed side to side in the motion. It dropped its hand back to its thigh, apparently satisfied.  
"I apologize if the Christmas gift I selected for you was unwanted or inappriopriate." It spoke up as traffic came to a halt at a light.

"Uh--what?"

"The 'nodding dog' figurine. I noticed you have left it on your desk. I had selected it based on your already existing interests and car decorations."

That was a lot for him to process all at once. "Why does it matter if I left it on my desk?"

"I had anticipated you would use it to decorate your car." The RK900 turned its head just enough to glance his way.

"You're looking inside my car now? Jesus."

A look of... something passed over the android's face, its brows gently creasing, lips twisting a little. "I pass your car regularly while walking through the parking lot, Lieutenant." It explained.

Oh. Right. All things considered that was probably one of the least creepy things the RK900 did. "So you'll apologize for a dud Christmas gift but not the whole 'monitoring me at all times' thing." He waved one hand next to the steering wheel.

"I do not monitor you _at all times_." The android put an almost derisive inflection on the words. "As part of Cyberlife's collaboration with the DPD, I am to assist with cases at the department. I am only following my instructions."

His GPS gave him the last few steps, and he pulled up in front of a large apartment complex just a few blocks down from the university grounds. Far enough to be outside campus security's reach but close enough to be convenient access.  
"Whatever, jackass. Get out of the car and let's get to work." He locked the car doors behind them as they stepped out and headed in towards the apartment complex. He was expecting the RK900 to be at his back, but the android cut in front of him, opening the doors to the main lobby instead of towards the elevator hall. 

"Hey." He came to a stop, and the android halted to check on him. "Where are you going?"

"In the event we are not let into apartment, it would be better for us to acquire a key instead of damaging the door." 

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to get a key from the apartment?"

"Yes." The android nodded an affirmative, holding open the door behind it for him to enter.

The apartment lobby was kind of plain, showing off the common minimalist look that every other newly built building seemed to have these days. Everything was solid shapes and colors with occasional line accents, blue, grey and white. It looked clean, at least, the darkly colored linoleum reflecting the embedded lights in the ceiling. The building was probably put up recently to provide housing for the out of state and out of country students coming in. A few young adults were sitting in a bunch of chairs and couches off to the side, playing on one of the mounted television screens with controllers in hands. Some of them tore their eyes from the screen long enough to stare at the RK900 as it passed them and headed for the front security desk.

The desk was manned by a GJ500 in a neatly pressed black security uniform. It was another model of android Hank didn't understand the design philosophy behind. Compared to the RK900, the tender faced android looked like he should be running an ice cream truck instead of being security staff. "Hello. Welcome to Ovation Apartments. How may I help you?" he greeted them in the typical sing song customer service tone.

"We are here to execute a search warrant for the Detroit Police Department, and we would appreciate the apartment complex's cooperation in this." The RK900 returned.

"May I see the search warrant?" The GJ500 canted his head to the side in a stiff tilt.

The RK900 raised its hand and flashed a holographic image it had apparently pulled off of his case files. He recognized the district judge's signature even in backwards hologram form. 

The receptionist's LED went yellow and blinking as he analyzed the image. After a moment he seemed satisfied and reached for something behind the counter. There was a bit of typing into the console in front of him and a swip of a plastic card in a card reader, then it handed the finished electronic key over to the RK900. "Thank you. Here is a key to Sid Torres' apartment for the duration of the investigation."

"Thank you for your cooperation." 

The RK900 immediately turned and placed the card in one of his hands, and he fumbled with it briefly before he got a grip on it.

"That was... simple." He admitted, as they walked the way towards the elevators. They were looking for room 410, as was written in already smudged ink on the back of the _OVATION APARTMENTS_ card in his hands.

"Apartment complexes may provide keys when shown the appropriate search warrant or if a sufficient exigency is established." The RK900 explained. "I find it preferable to kicking the door in." The android gave him a look.

He raised his hands up. "Whatever gets us inside is fine by me." At least the android seemed to go by the books every step of the way. Better than Cyberlife trying to skirt the law through their android eyes and ears they'd placed in police departments across the country. 

 

They stepped inside the called elevator together, the android reaching down to select the fourth floor. After a pause, the doors closed, and Hank was stuck with the sense of déjà vu.  
The RK900 stared forward with its arms folded behind its back as the elevator quietly rumbled. The floor number ticked silently up from 1 to 2. Unlike Connor, the RK900 barely moved. No fidgeting, no tiny tics or shuffling in place. No coin tricks either. When he thought about it, he'd never seen the android with a coin or a pen bouncing around in its hand. 

The elevator moved from 3 to 4 and the doors slid open. Hank stepped out into the hallway first. It was mostly empty, rows of undecorated doors in incrementing numbers. He could hear distant voices coming from down the hallways, human footsteps rumbling lowly behind layers of walls.  
It was easy enough to find Torres' door, midway down a hall. There was the number 410 in simple cut acrylic on the door and an electronic lock beneath the handle, a light glowing red to indicate it was locked.

They both came to a stop in front of it, staying still and listening in. He couldn't discern any sound coming from behind the door. No voices, no television droning. Hard to tell if it was occupied. He gave a look to the RK900 and the android nodded an affirmative.

Time to get started.

He gave two banging knocks on the door. "Detroit Police, open up!" The sound echoed out in the hallway, and he hoped there wouldn't be any onlookers poking their heads out their apartments to rubberneck. At this time of day most of the occupants should be in classes or at work.

It was quiet as they both waited the customary handful of seconds for a response. The RK900's eyes remained trained on the door as they held in place, trying to sense any movement inside.

Nothing.

That was their cue to move in. He hit the door with the keycard and the light on the electronic lock turned green along with the sound of the bolt clicking into place.

"It's possible Torres may have had a spotter in the front lobby." the RK900 warned him. 

Hank thought about the guys playing on the couches and gave a nod, stepping forward.

"With all due respect." The android placed itself between him and the door, "Please allow me to go first, Lieutenant."

He'd always gone first when entering a scene. If anyone saw action, he preferred it be him, who could handle it. But the android caught him with a piercing, insistent gaze, unwilling to back down. He grit his teeth, taking in a long breath... and deflating as he exhaled. Whatever. He gestured at it to continue.

The door handle squealed quietly as the android turned and pushed it inwards.

 

The lights were on inside, from the entry area all the way to the open kitchen at the back of the apartment. The first thing he noticed was that the whole thing was empty, devoid of personal effects, which made sense if Torres was just using it as a launching pad for dealing. They walked into a living area with some seats and a center table, no cups, no coasters, not even a remote resting on it. 

Almost the only things of interest were in the kitchen. There were some fast food containers tucked in the corner of the counters, like Hank would expect from someone who didn't stay in one apartment for very long. What did stand out was a collection of brightly colored coolers stacked halfway up the wall.

Hank fanned out from the RK900, heading towards the hallway connecting the living area with the two bedrooms. As he stepped closer he could see inside an open door to one of them, a long untouched bed, fully made and covers still tight over the mattress.

 

Out of the other door came Torres. 

The man was fast, wide eyed, and he had a Glock. Hank had barely had enough time to step back and then the RK900 was there beside him, service pistol raised and aimed. 

"Freeze!" It shouted. "Drop your weapon, now!"

Torres turned his gun towards the android, only to jerk back to him as he pulled his own piece out from his holster. The man was caught between two armed officers and a dead end hallway behind him, effectively pinned in place. There were only a few ways this could go, and most of them ended with Torres shot. Some of them ended with Hank shot, and all three of them seemed to realize it.

"Drop the fucking weapon, Torres!" Hank bellowed, which had the man flinching. He could see his finger curled around the trigger.

"What the fuck--I thought plastics weren't allowed to carry!" Torres was a tall but reedy guy, looking like he'd lost a bit of weight since taking his drivers licence photo they had on file. Spiky, short cropped hair and, at the moment, sweat beading on his forehead out of nerves.

"According to the American Androids Act's 2038 Amendment, Cyberlife authorized security agents, including city police units, are permitted to carry weaponry." The RK900 recited, voice completely steady and unshaken. "Use of lethal force is also permitted, when authorized."

He could see the man stir at the words, the hitching breath and roiling tension in his frame. Visibly unsettled.

"And believe me," Hank cut in before the RK900 could continue. "-He's authorized."

Torres blanched. It took him a full second to swallow it and put his game face back on. For one reason or another, Torres was scared shitless of the RK900.

The android kept trying to inch closer, edging towards Hank's side. He could see its LED flashing a rapid yellow.

Torres' gun stayed on Hank, but his focus never broke from the RK900. "You back the fuck up!" He snapped, pointedly aiming his gun between them again. 

"I wouldn't do that." He raised his voice, pressing in on the weak point he was seeing. "For this guy, people like us might as well be moving in slow motion." He pulled his lips back in an unfriendly smile. "You think about getting clever with that trigger, that thought'll be the second to last thing that ever passes through your thick fuckin' skull." 

The man's eyes went somehow impossibly wider and for a few tense moments Hank wasn't sure if he was about to throw up or shoot one of them anyways.

Then, Torres broke. He took his finger off the trigger, raising both of his hands in the air in surrender. "Okay--Alright."

The RK900 didn't hesitate, moving in just as Hank approached. They acted in tandem, the android plucking the Glock from the man's grip and handing it back to where was Hank was standing behind him. Torres' wrists were pulled behind his back seemingly effortlessly, the android cuffing him with a pair it'd had plucked from its belt.

"Sid Torres, you are under arrest for aggravated assault, resisting arrest, and distribution of a Schedule I controlled substance." The RK900 began as it secured his wrists. " You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to consult a lawyer before questioning. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you."

Torres jerked his head, throwing Hank a harsh glare. "Is it even legal for this thing to be reading me my rights?"

Hank blinked. To his surprise, the RK900 looked back at him in turn, a bizarrely _questioning_ look on its face. Why the android thought that he of all people would know the answer to that was beyond him. As far as he knew, however, androids had been Mirandizing people for years, unless there were a few Supreme Court cases saying otherwise he didn't know about.

"Do you feel as if your fifth amendment rights against self incrimination and your sixth amendment right to legal counsel have been made clear to you at this time?" He asked instead, tipping his head back.

Torres, appropriately, clammed up.

"Well there you go." Hank shrugged his shoulders, flashing the RK900 a dry smile.

"I've notified a squad car about the situation." The android announced. "They should be available to pick Torres up within a few minutes."

 

 

The minutes passed with some lingering tension, the RK900 stuck on Torres like a storm cloud, eventually frog marching the man down to the squad car. Hank put his Glock in one of the evidence bags he had packed with him along with the cell phone the RK900 had pulled when patting the man down.

The android returned to the apartment soon after handing Torres off, probably wondering where he'd been. "We should allow forensics to process the scene."

"I'm going to." He pulled on the sterile gloves he always kept packed whenever he was dealing with an active crime scene. "I just want to take a look around first. I want to know how many potential accomplices we're dealing with."

The RK900 followed him as he moved into the kitchen, its eyes focused on the floor, sliding from the refrigerator to the door and then back to him. "What do you mean, Lieutenant?"

"These." He gestured to the coolers against the wall. "Red ice is inert. Its ingredients aren't, and they need to be kept cold. You see these when someone has been transporting them around."

The RK900 dropped into a half kneel front of the coolers, brow furrowed as it probably scanned them over. "I am indeed finding other fingerprint sets besides Torres'. And--" It stopped what it was saying, blinking at him as he pulled the door to the freezer open. 

Inside the freezer there were a bunch of plastic bags, all big bulk foodstuffs. Frozen chicken breasts, potato wedges, peas, the works. All already opened. "Now that's an old trick I haven't seen in a while." He chuckled to himself.

"What is?"

He pulled one of the bags out of the freezer, pulling apart both sides of the zipper. As he expected, there wasn't any food inside, only a thick plastic bag with partially frozen fluid. The deep blue liquid was mostly small ice chunks, but enough of it was melted that it sloshed as he hefted it up for the android to see. "Blue slush." It was the form of thirium he was the most familiar with after all his years on the Red Ice Task Force. The thirium in androids, the -310 "blue blood" compound was apparently ionized in order to carry a charge throughout android bodies. The thirium used in Red Ice production needed to be neutralized chemically and then kept cold to keep it that way. "Torres wasn't just selling, he was also part of a production ring."

The RK900 looked somewhat surprised. "I've identified some of the fingerprints on the evidence. I will forward them to the forensics team and your case files."

He tucked the bag back inside its disguise, putting them in the freezer. "If you want to be useful, go ahead and write some warrant affidavits up for them. As soon as they hear Torres got caught they'll scatter. It's how it always works."

To his surprise, the RK900 nodded. "Understood. I can't submit the forms but I can prepare them for you. You'll find them in the case files along with a copy of my observational footage--that is, my equivalent of body worn camera footage."

Now that would be something surreal to watch. "I'm done here. You have anything else you need to do, or are we ready to head out?"

"After you, Lieutenant." The android gestured towards the door.

 

The RK900 seemed at ease now that the situation had passed, back to sitting in its seat and staring ahead, waiting for Hank to start the car. Everything had happened so fast, it was only just starting to catch up with him as they watched the forensics crew start to file into the apartment complex. Christ, that really was the second time in about a week he'd had a gun pulled on him.

"I would like to thank you, Lieutenant." the android spoke up, turning its head to look his way.

He scrunched up his face at the words, "For what?"

"For allowing me to act as your backup." The android's voice dropped a little quieter as it continued. "If you had entered the apartment alone, the odds of you sustaining a serious injury in the resulting altercation would have been high."

"How high are we talking here?" He sneered. The android opened its mouth to answer but he held up a hand. "On second thought, don't answer that. You were right, I was wrong, congratulations on getting me to pull my head out of my ass and make the right choice for once."

It was probably the first time he'd had a conversation with the RK900 that wasn't colored with hostility. The android said it'd come along for the purpose of securing his safety and he'd be damned if it hadn't done just that. 

"I am grateful," The RK900 gave a nod. "Especially for allowing me in spite of your dislike of me."

"Hey, I don't--" He started, only to stop himself. No, he did dislike the RK900. He hated the thing's fucking mechanical guts. It just caught him off guard that the android itself was aware of that. "The point is, what you did was pretty good work back there. I wasn't sure if we were going to get him to back down peacefully but we pulled it off."

"Your read of the perpetrator was very effective in talking him down, Lieutenant."

He snorted. It was giving him the android brown nose protocol, maybe. "Guess we work as a Good Cop-Bad Cop routine. I feel like you'd be better serving Detroit doing work like this instead of chasing androids around." He'd said that without much thought behind it, and as his next breath caught in his chest he wasn't sure what was worse: that he'd said it at all or that he'd meant it.

But the android didn't look offended or displeased as it continued to regard him. Not a pinch or a twitch to its brow. "I don't necessarily disagree with that assessment. But as it currently stands, this is not my primary assignment with the Detroit Police Department."

He hesitated, retracing the words and the implications he could be picking up on in his head. "So you're saying this is the kind of work you'd rather be doing?"

"As an android, I don't have preferences." The RK900 hit the same script as usual, and by now Hank shouldn't have expected any other answer. "I am designed to accomplish any task given to me by the department or by Cyberlife."

"But if you didn't have that 'primary assignment', you'd like to be out on the streets doing this kind of work?"

The android tilted its head as if in thought. "I wouldn't be opposed to it." Not a direct answer, but he could take it as an affirmative.

He gave a nod, finally reaching out to the gear shift between them. The thoughtless, habitual pull of the gear out from park was interrupted by the feeling of skin touching against the underside of his wrist.  
It was jarring enough to stop him short, turning his head to look back at the android. The RK900 was looking directly at him, gray eyes flicking once towards his hand and then back to his face. The android held its hand underneath his, two fingers upturned against the softest skin of his wrist, as if checking his pulse.

"Your hands are shaking." It told him. 

His hand was trembling where he was holding the gear shift. The other hand shook on the steering wheel. He hadn't realized it.

He pulled the car into reverse and then jerked his hand away, breaking the point of contact. "Yeah. It's called nerves. It's something that happens to humans when they get a gun pointed at them." He nearly snarled, tension and something unpleasant roiling in his chest. 

"I know."

He barked out an ugly, humorless chuckle.

"Well," The android was quick to correct itself before he could. "I don't know what it is like, but I do understand what you are likely experiencing, physiologically." Then, after a moment of silence as Hank kicked it into drive, "I think you should go home and rest, Lieutenant."

He damn near stopped the car. "Are you fucking serious?"

"You said it yourself. You have just experienced a very dangerous and stressful situation. Taking some time to rest would not be unwarranted."

He almost wanted to ask if it treated Reed like this, sending him home every time things got a little scary on the job, but mostly he was just baffled. Again, the android didn't seem to be fucking with him or snidely looking down its nose at him. In the quick glance he caught of it when taking his eyes off the road, it looked quite sincere, giving him that same determined look it had back at the door to Torres' apartment. Didn't stop him from being fucking insulted though.

Then it hit him.

The RK900's deviant hunt.

If he took the rest of the day off, he had the perfect opportunity to go down and check things out.

Slowly, he let the offense slip from his face. "You know what? You've already been on the right track once today, maybe you're right about this too. Maybe taking some time to recoup would do me good."

The small pinch in the RK900's face smoothed out. "Yes, I agree."

"Tell you what. I'll finish up at the precinct, get those warrant requests filed, and then I'll go home. How's that sound?"

"It sounds acceptable. I could inform Captain Fowler of your status for you, if you would like."

That'd probably get an eyebrow raise from Jeffrey at least. "Hey, I'm not going to stop you if you want to."

 

 

They made it back to the precinct without incident and Hank ended up with a pang of gratitude that Gavin wasn't there to greet them. He had no idea if this was something the RK900 hashed out with him ahead of time or if this was something the android had done under its partner's nose and Hank was perfectly fine with not knowing.

But the android soon excused itself to leave him alone. Upon arriving back at his desk, sure enough it had left dozens of photographs, videos and profiles for possible suspects in his case files. He finished up the affidavits and sent them off, sparing a few glances at what the RK900 had put together from the scene before shutting his work station down for the day. As he was heading out, he watched the android slip into Jeffrey's office, wondering what sort of explanation it had cooked up for him.

He was fine with not knowing that either.

 

 

 

It was about a forty five minute drive from central Detroit to out in Dearborn, the high tech bustle of the city petering out into the suburban sprawl and the lingering dots of city parks.  
The outside of the Henry Ford was awash with color, the rich red colored brick and the stately white arched windows. The grass and thoroughly landscaped trees were bare and leafless in the winter, dark branches creeping up against the colorful banners announcing exhibit additions and wildlife shows now playing in the auditorium.

Off season, it wasn't hard to find a parking spot, just a short walk away from the main doorways. He paid his ticket fee to the android at the teller (still didn't qualify for the senior discount, thank god) and was ushered inside.

 

The crowds inside were mostly made up of the occasional gaggle of students, classes in brightly colored T shirts with private school names on the front and back. He watched a young teacher followed by an android assistant call a cluster of middle schoolers over to a Ford Model T.

There were college students taking notes and photographs and videos with their tablets, probably working on assigned history reports or engineering presentations.

The occasional lone android ambled around from display to display, covered in logos of what Hank vaguely recognized as streaming websites. Without any held cameras, he had to guess they were offering guided tours from a first person perspective or something like that.

The last time he'd been here must have been in high school, decades ago. It had changed a lot since then. He recognized some of the vehicles and names but everything else from the interior to the displays had been altered in the years of updates and technological change. One of the new showcases was the history of the electric vehicle. It included some of the freakishly antique prototypes from the goddamn mid 1800's down to the first mainstream model of automated electric car that came to populate Detroit streets.

He'd thought about bringing Cole when he was older, back then. Encouraging his interest in history and cars and all that. He'd taken him to museums of natural history and planetariums, but the Henry Ford had seemed a little outside of his age range, old cars and buses beyond the interest of a little kid in the way planets and dinosaur bones weren't.

The old feeling of regret hung in him as he walked past decade after decade of Ford cars all the way to the early 2000's, keeping his eyes peeled for anything unusual.

Android employees were everywhere in the museum. They were dressed in sharp uniforms, white long sleeved shirts and gray vests, waiting around for tours to pass by. Some greeted him as he walked but it just took a raise of his hand for them to go back to their posts and leave him alone.

He'd walked through almost the entire building wondering what exactly it was he was looking for until he saw it. The hallway was flanked by nearly floor length blue banners announcing the recently opened Cyberlife exhibit. The overhead lights were slightly dimmed further in, drawing attention to the holographic panels showing off archival footage of Elijah Kamski at work. At least, the caption said it was Kamski. The footage was taken from a time when the man still wore a programmer's unshaved beard and thick rimmed glasses as opposed to the ridiculous manbun he'd seen him with when he'd met the guy. 

He followed the length of the panels that served to cut the hallway in half, one side being Cyberlife Past and the other being the Android Present. It all seemed kind of short sighted if anyone were to ask him. Celebrating androids some ten years in was a bit fucking premature, the cynical part of him wondering if Cyberlife had donated money to the foundation to get this extended advert in. The Android Past had disembodied joints flexing and stretching, computer screens showing off the early facial recognition and tracking technology in androids. There was two cameras resembling eyes hooked up to a monitor, showing a feed of what it was viewing, and he saw a reticle pop up around his face as the system detected it.

He stopped at the end of the hallway, the division between Past and Present, unable to tear his eyes away from the display.

It was an android, or the insides of one. It was a swath of vibrant blue, vaguely in the shape of a butterfly, pinned in place on a slab of glass. Its limbs were splayed and flared apart, muscles cracked open like mussel shells, showing off the glowing interiors on either side of the metallic bone nestled between. The biggest piece was its pulled apart torso, its ribcage absent to allow clear view of what was inside. Two lung shaped organs expanded and contracted while something pulsed steadily between them, held in place by some kind of cylinder in front of it.

There was more to it, white glowing words around the display noting things like _data storage_ and _sensory system_ but all he could see was the visceral gore held up for all to see.

"Jesus Christ." He breathed, running a hand over his mouth. He spotted the android's head a little ways above the torso, detached from the body, turned to the side and revealing an opened cranial cavity like it was merely part of an anatomical diagram.

Which... Hank supposed it was.

He finally turned himself, closing his eyes for a while and trying to reel himself in. He'd lost most of his squeamishness in his line of work but sometimes it would just hit him. He'd see something that'd get past the hardened steadiness of years of experience and stick him in his belly. He'd just never expected it'd be an android that would get it out of him.

He raised his head again, avoiding looking back at the android anatomical display. He turned away, looking elsewhere until his eyes were drawn to the Android Present half of the exhibit.

There were two huge mechanical arms, bright red in color, in a slow circling rotation on the other side of a pane of plexiglass. A platform like a stretcher in an ambulance sat between them, adjusting its angle every now and then. On the plexiglass surface there was a holographic label reading _Android Assembler._

It clicked in his head, why this was a point of interest for the RK900. There seemed to be machinery here that could put androids together and take them apart, if not also repair them, just like the halfway house the RK900 had raided. The museum might be another stop on the route, a place for repairs before they were sent elsewhere.

 

Hiding in plain sight.

 

He became more keenly aware of the androids attending the exhibit. He searched their faces and their uniforms. They all had glowing blue bands and LEDs, each smiling pleasantly as he walked past. He again wasn't sure what he was looking for but he had a sense that he'd know it when he saw it. Each android reacted the same way, greeting him, offering him tours or a description of displays. 

He fanned further out. Beyond the Cyberlife exhibit, there was the expansive raised roof of the History of Flight exhibit. There on one end, he recognized the VS-300 helicopter sitting on the floor in all its ugly, bulky, gray glory. Whatever android the RK900 was hunting had seen the interior of it, so maybe they worked nearby.

 

An android crossed the open space of the History of Flight and walked up to another android attendant. Their LEDs rapidly flickered yellow as they wordlessly communicated to one another. Hank's mouth fell open.

She was one of the female AP700 variants. She was dark skinned and petite, probably around five foot tall on the dot. She had a sharp, heart shaped face with hair in a cropped pixie cut.

 _"The tiny black lady android."_ Chris had said. Unlike the other androids he had seen, her uniform was different, more like the jumpsuit of a mechanic or some kind of handyman.

It could have been a coincidence, but then the android threw one glance over her shoulder back his way. He didn't see anything in her expression change, not fear, not surprise, not even a flicker of recognition. But she stared at him, making eye contact with him from across the exhibit. She then turned in place and walked away from the android, heading towards one of the interior walls of the building. 

Shit.

He followed her, trying not to move too fast, keeping his expression level and his breathing even so none of the other staff androids paid him any mind. The AP700 didn't turn her head back around once, and before his eyes she disappeared behind a Staff Only door. Yeah. She'd seen him, probably scanned his face, and beat the fastest retreat she could to a backroom to get away from him.

He circled in place as he weighed his options. There was no way he could get close to her like this. If he tried she'd either flee to deeper into the building or make a goddamn break for it like all the deviants he and Connor had investigated.

_Or call her friends over like last time._

She wasn't going to want to talk to him, but he needed to speak with her. Somehow. Somehow he had to reach her. Or let her know she could contact him.

Quickly, he fumbled for his back pocket, pulling out one of the practically untouched warrants he'd printed that morning. He found a blank strip on the bottom and ripped the piece off, pressing it flat on the nearby wall. He always carried a pen with him and now it was paying off.

_HANK ANDERSON_  
_1-555-436682273_  
_I CAN HELP YOU._

It was the most succinct thing he could think of writing in the tiny space on the slip of paper. He took in a deep breath, steadying himself. Then he shouldered into the Staff Only door.

In the utility space between exhibits, it was dimly lit, cramped and dusty. Power cables and pipes in a rainbow of colors ran down the walls and across floors. There were walls of shelves of tools and spare plugs, everything needed to keep a museum like this operating.

The AP700 had been waiting for him. She came around a corner, flashing him that mechanical look of android disapproval. "I'm sorry sir. This place is for authorized staff members only. I will have to ask you to leave." She warned him in a pleasant monotone.

He reached out, placing the slip of paper on the nearest shelf at his side. Her eyes never once left his face, so he gave a pointed look in its direction. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Got a little turned around." He lifted his hand from the paper, every inch of him praying that he hadn't fucked this up and that she'd pick it up and read it and _believe him._ "Let me get out of your hair." He turned around and headed back out of the door. When he threw one last glance behind himself, she closed the door shut in his face.

 

He sat in the parking lot with a hand on his phone, checking it every so often. He'd been waiting there for several minutes, wondering if the android might decide to call him immediately. He didn't want to start driving just yet in case she did. The jitters he'd gotten from earlier in the day, if anything, felt like they had gotten even worse.

But his phone remained quiet. There hadn't even been any messages from Pedro throughout the day. He set about typing his own message to send his way.

**[16:33:27] Any updates?**

He set his phone aside again, resolving himself to wait a few more minutes as his car radio blasted some heavy metal and the vents blasted hot air into his face. He watched one of the classes of kids file out of the building and get on their school bus.

Nothing.

Eventually he pulled out of the parking lot and started his drive back to Detroit proper. He kept himself at a slower speed, ready to pull over if he needed to take a call.

It was only when he was headed Riverside in his by now well worn route to Scarlet that he got a few blips in a row announcing that he had received text messages. He parked his car in his usual spot and pulled up his phone.

**Pedro**  
**[17:44:02] Sorry I've been busy all day**  
**[17:44:36] I don't have an ETA on your info yet either but believe me I've been asking**  
**[17:44:53] should have something for you tomorrow so don't stress over it lol**  
**[17:45:15] I'll talk to you later hank**

He let out a sigh, jotting down a quick reply.

**[17:45:41] Talk to you later. Thank you for letting me know.**

Only a few seconds passed before he got another reply.

**[17:45:58] [ (x) super-thumbs-up.anim][ (x) smile-wave-goodbye.anim]**

The broken emoji still had a smile tugging at his lips, and he put his phone in his front coat pocket. He had the ring tone set to as high as possible, just in case the android called him while he was in the club.

It was probably the first time he'd been outright early to one of his appointments at Scarlet. He was swiped down as usual by the bouncers, and despite being a little rougher around the edges they still let him in. He had to wonder if he'd somehow crossed the threshold to regular after all the times he'd dropped by.

The RK800 was waiting for him in the lobby outside the private rooms, and for once Jacoby wasn't there at his desk killing time behind the counters. Instead the android had the usual tablet in his hands, and his eyes lit up as he saw Hank approach.  
"Hello Hank, it is good to see you again. You're a little early for your reservation. If you would like, we could start your session now."

He tipped his shoulders. "Sure, why not?"

He was handed the tablet, and after a brief skim over its contents ('Connor' and 'Hank' still sitting unchanged at the top) he verified the rental and handed it back to the RK800. The android placed it behind the desk and returned to his side.

"What would you like for today, Hank?"

He didn't have the money to spend on taking the android out again, he knew that. But he also didn't want to spend his half hour here in this shitty club. "Come on." He loosely beckoned for the android to follow him.

 

When they got to the car, he pulled the spare jacket from his back seat, holding it out to the android. He'd packed it that morning on a whim, and the android looked between it and him with a mildly bemused expression on his face. "While I certainly appreciate the gesture, you don't have to worry, Hank. I can't get cold."

"I know you can't. But I think you look good in it." It wasn't exactly a lie, he supposed, and the RK800's face seemed to brighten up a little as he took the coat from him.

The android added a little flair into the way he stuck his arms into each sleeve as if he were putting on a little show, capping it off with a two handed pop of his ill fitting collar. Hank muffled a snort at the display. Yeah, he'd definitely taken it the wrong way. He unlocked the car door for him, ducking down into his own seat. The android lowered himself into the passenger seat, only to drop, limbs splaying like he'd lost his balance for a second. Hank saw him blink a few times in surprise before he straightened himself up. Right, the RK900's adjustments. "You can raise the seat if you want." He offered.

"It is fine. I would like to know what you want to do for our session, Hank." The android turned his head to face him, his hand holding the two sides of the coat together in one fist on his chest.

"What do I want to do, huh?" He felt out where his phone was still resting against his breast. He could always drive around to waste the thirty minutes, but he'd never been that good at playing taxi. "I was thinking we could just sit here and talk." He put the key in the ignition, starting up the engine so he could put the heater on.

"Just talk?"

"Just talk and nothing else."

"Okay." The RK800 smiled at him. "But as a reminder, as per club policy, to maintain patron privacy all Scarlet own androids receive system wide memory wipes every twenty four hours. I cannot remember exact topics discussed on previous days we've spent together. I'm sorry if my conversations with you are disjointed or repetitive as a result."

Hank huffed out a sigh as the android tapped into the script again. "Yeah, don't worry about that. I won't be retreading old ground today."

"What would you like to talk about?"

"Uh." Somehow he hadn't thought that far ahead. "I don't know." He almost reflexively asked the android what _he_ would like to talk about, but he already damn well knew the android wouldn't have an answer to that.

"We could talk about your day, if you would like. If you don't, that's alright."

"My day, huh?" 

"You seem stressed, so it might make you feel better." the android seemed earnest about it, resting his cheek against the back of the car seat. The jacket really did look good on him, oversized and all.

"I'm a cop, remember? You sure you want me talking about that?" He was sure the android had some sort of policy or other about that.

"As I said, my memory is wiped periodically for security reasons. But you also don't have to mention the specifics of your cases."

It was weird to think about. He could say anything to the RK800, as long as it didn't hit another terms of service violation, and within a day, it would just be gone, wiped from the android's mind. Just like every other meeting they'd had. He didn't remember any of it, not Hank dragging him out to crime scenes nor to the theater. A blank slate, every day. People probably dumped a whole lot of bullshit on the androids, knowing this.  
He tipped his head back and shut his eyes, wondering what he wanted to talk about to pass the time. Back in the task force he'd made an art form of sanitizing his anecdotes when in conversations with suspects or people he was trying to get in close with. He felt it was better to tell the truth but be vague than to lie. Made it easier to keep track of everything and less likely to get tangled in his own web.

"Well, I had a perp pull a gun on me today." A truth. Easy enough to start with.

The RK800's eyes widened before his face pulled into a sympathetic look. "Oh. I can see why you would be stressed after that." The android quipped.

He chuckled. "Yeah. Wasn't fun. Ended up talking him down so it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

"I'm glad you made it out of the situation unharmed, Hank."

"Honestly that's not even the real reason I've been stressed most of the day." Another truth. "The real reason is because..." He trailed off and the android leaned in closer to him, imploring and unsettlingly attentive. They probably programmed all of the androids here to be good listeners. "Uh. See." He waved his hand in a loose circle. "There's this rookie."

That was factually correct, wasn't it? The RK900 had only been on the force for one month now. By all accounts he was green as could be.

The RK800's looked to his hand and then back to his eyes, the concern lingering on his face. "Was the rookie hurt on the job?"

"No, nothing like that. No one got hurt today. Perp's fine, rookie's fine. It's just..." He hunched up his shoulders, figuring he might as well say it. "It's just that I hate the guy. And he was the one with me on the job today as my backup."

It was obvious he couldn't just say that and leave it at that, and sure enough the android asked the obvious followup question. "Why do you hate him?"

"Geez." He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "It's... kind of a long story. First thing is, I don't like his attitude. He walks around like he owns the place and he gets involved in my business even though I outrank him." Another truth. 

The android's eyebrow popped up at his words. "That's very daring for a rookie."

"You're telling me. The reason he gets away with it is because of the higher ups." A half truth. "The same people who got him the job to begin with."

"So he didn't earn his position, he was given it." The RK800's brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to piece together the story Hank was painting for him. "Is he good at his job?"

"He's..." He scrunched up his face, waving his hand again. "Yeah. He's good. That's the worst part, I guess." In the small space between them, the RK800 tilted his head, encouraging him to explain further. In spite of everything, he still didn't want to admit it. "It'd be one thing if he was just an asshole who could barely do his job right, you know? But no. He's competent. He's by the book. He sends letters of condolences to people who get hurt on the job and bought everyone Christmas presents." He ran a hand over his mouth, scratching at the rough edge of the stubble on his face.  
The RK800 waited patiently through his silence, waiting for a conclusion Hank still struggled to put into words.

 

The truth was, if the RK900 was anyone else he'd probably really like the guy.

 

"But...?" The RK800 ventured, finally.

"But he's an asshole." He declared, without any conviction or venom behind it. "He thinks he knows better than anyone else and he has it out for me in particular." Another truth. But not the whole truth.

"I see." There was a good natured sympathy back on the android's face, a half smile. "I'm sorry to hear that, Hank. I hope the two of you can get along in the future."

He laughed once at the sentiment. "And I hope he gets fired."

The android smiled wider in response, warm and amused. He wouldn't have expected him to laugh with him. The android hadn't even chuckled watching Die Hard for the first time, so it was hard to even imagine.  
Come to think of it, he'd never heard any android laugh before.

 

He passed the rest of the time with the RK800 talking about people at work. He talked about Reed and complained about how he fed into "the rookie's" behavior. He talked about Chris' injury and how he was due to come back to the precinct for desk work in the next few days. At the end of his thirty minute period, he did feel a little better, like he'd taken a load off somehow in just being able to shoot the shit with the android.

"I'm afraid that we are reaching the end of your session, Hank." The RK800 told him, "Would you like to authorize a payment and extend your session another thirty minutes?"

"Nah. That's it for tonight." He unlocked the car doors for them, leaving his engine running as he pulled himself out of his seat. "Let's get you back to--" He threw his hand towards the building. 

The android walked at his side on the way back, the two of them crossing the frosted parking lot with their shoulders almost touching. When they reached the door, he tugged the coat off of his arms and held it out to him. "Thank you for lending me your jacket."

"Don't mention it. Like I said, it looks good on you." He took it back from him, draping it over one arm. 

The red lights from the exterior sign caught on the edges of the android's dark curled hair. He smiled at him, an uneven curve to his lips. His LED glowed a steady sky blue.

"Have a good night, Hank."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another really late really big chapter, yadda yadda, you guys know the song and dance by now.
> 
> It was fun writing a chapter that was almost entirely focused on the RK900, and for the first time Hank and him get to share a room and not be at each others' throats!
> 
> The next chapter will be the last slow chapter in the fic for a long while, because once it's over, everything is getting set into motion and finally Hank starts getting some answers to his questions.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who comments and kudos'es! You guys keep me coming back to writing! (...Even if it takes me a bit of time to get it finished)


	11. KERNEL PANIC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter contains brief mentions of child abuse and domestic abuse as well as a scene of suicide ideation.

 

 

He was woken up by the chime of his ringtone, set to max volume and screaming out right near his head. He flailed out from the covers of his bed, lurching forward across the mattress, half conscious and heart already lodging in his throat.

 

It was only when he held the phone up close to his face that he found it wasn't displaying the UNKNOWN NUMBER he'd been waiting around for all night.

Instead, he was looking at one Jeffrey Fowler's familiar work number.

Hank groaned and hit the receive call button.

"Hey Jeffrey."

_"Hank. You awake?"_ It was around ten AM. Late enough for him to possibly be already conscious.

He tabbed away from the scowling photo of Jeffrey from some years back on the caller ID and scrolled through an unchanged call log with a frown. "I am now." No missed calls. No new text messages. "What's up?"

_"Consider this a wellness check after yesterday."_ Yesterday? His half asleep brain took a second longer to process. Right, the thing with Torres. The RK900. _"How are you feeling today?"_

"Ah, well. You know. Feeling better, I guess."

_"That's good. Had to worry after the android came up to tell me you weren't feeling well and wouldn't be back for the rest of the day."_

Hank snorted, pulling his legs out from under the covers. "What exactly did it tell you?"

_"Eh."_ He could picture Jeffrey waving his opposite hand with the sound, probably halfway through a pace around his office. _"This song and dance about how you had experienced a dangerous situation and your stress was high and your blood pressure was through the roof. But with more ten dollar words."_

That brought a hand rubbing over the pulse of his throat. "It seriously talked about my blood pressure? Did it give you a number?"

_"I was paraphrasing. And you're due for a medical exam anyways."_

He didn't bother turning the phone receiver away from his resultant groan of distaste.

_"There's another reason I called. You were going to take today off."_ Back before, Jeffrey had to beat Hank off with a broom to get him to take his mandated days off. Even now, though he came to work around noon, he still showed up every day he was assigned and remained mostly on call. If he didn't have to take days off, he'd probably come in then too.

 

Days off usually just meant drinking home alone all day.

 

_"You still going to stick with that or do you think you'll come in today?"_

Hank yawned, rubbing a hand over his face, over the stubble growing unruly over his cheeks. "Yeah. I'm still gonna take today off."

Maybe Jeffrey was surprised. Or maybe he was expecting it, after his call on the twenty third. There was an audible exhale on his end of the line. _"Got it. It's why I called and made sure. Good work on the case with Torres, by the way. Caught one of the guys you set up warrants for yesterday."_

Now that he was up, he might as well get up, and he kept the phone to his ear as he lumbered out of bed, tugging off his pajama bottoms. "Oh yeah?"

_"South-West got him at a traffic stop, probably on his way to Windsor."_

"Makes sense. Odds are he's the only one we're going to get." The rest would either skip town or the border and lay low until they could set up shop somewhere else.

_"I'll let you know if Torres makes bail before you get back."_

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

_"Have a good one, Hank."_

 

He went about his daily routine with an unpleasant underlying tension. He had his phone charging on the kitchen table as he made breakfast and filled up Sumo's food and water. He had an entire day to himself, and he had to figure out what he was going to do with it.

He called up Scarlet again, and by that time Evelyn was pretty much expecting him, ushering him through his reservation with clear impatience and closing off the call immediately after. 

He still had no leads on the club, and his phone remained silent.

Maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe the AP700 he'd seen hadn't been the deviant android supposedly working in the museum after all. He wanted to head back that way to give the place a second look over.

But he couldn't. By now, the RK900 and Gavin would likely be making their way over. And it wasn't like he could call Jeffrey up and ask him about it to make sure. 

Another option was that the AP700 simply didn't trust him, and had discarded his number thinking it was a boneheaded trap. Which was arguably worse, because--

Fuck. He should have _warned_ her. _Fuck._ He could have let her know the RK900 was sniffing around the museum and he didn't. He didn't even think about it. Stupid. _Stupid._

"Christ." He hissed out between gritted teeth. Sumo raised his head from his food bowl to look his way.

He felt like his wheels were spinning without touching the ground. All the effort and zero momentum. He had one last lead to follow up on and that was the boosted parts and thirium. It'd be treading old ground for him. He used to haunt a lot of unloading bays of stores big and small, trying to weasel his way into whatever information he could get his hands on. He didn't need the DPD database to find potential harvesting spots around the abandoned store. All he had to do was search on his phone and a number of familiar waypoints popped up on his map of Detroit.

 

As he ducked into his car, he stopped to look back at the paint scrawled over his front door. The neighbors had probably taken notice of it by now. He was surprised he hadn't gotten complaints.  
He'd get it covered up eventually.

 

 

 

_"Sagaland announced today that it would be handing over the six EM400 units involved in a violent altercation with a park goer to Cyberlife for deactivation. A spokesperson from Sagaland has stated that due being affected by the 'deviancy' glitch, there was a possibility that even after resetting the units the glitch and erratic behavior could be passed to other EM400's within the park's network of androids. Therefore, under Cyberlife's advisement, Sagaland has chosen to have the androids retired and dismantled to ensure the safety of future visitors."_

_"This announcement has been met with a small but significant outcry, especially on the heels of Patrick Bowers' and Gracie West's arrest for multiple counts of child abuse and neglect. The arrests followed an investigation by Child Protective Services after the child involved made a statement to police claiming he had sought the help of the EM400 units because he was 'afraid of going home' and ''did not feel safe'."_

_"There is even a trending hashtag on social media: '#FreeTheJerries', where people are voicing their support for the EM400's actions. Some are even saying the Sagaland units are 'heroes'."_

_"In response to the ongoing discussion, Cyberlife's Director of Humanization Jason Graff has made a statement."_

The radio switched over to a different recording.

_"While we have no doubt the EM400 units were acting on their protective programming designed by Cyberlife, the reality of the matter is that these glitched androids are capable of violence towards humans. This is a public danger, and for that reason Cyberlife is required to deactivate any units with the glitch, in all circumstances."_

_"Michigan State Representative Mary Mullen took to social media with her own statement on the matter."_

_"The only public danger I can see here is that androids coming to the defense of vulnerable individuals is considered an aberrant glitch instead of intended behavior."_ The news anchor read over the media post. _"We have no idea how many incidents of child or domestic abuse are witnessed every day by androids, who go on to do nothing to stop it."_

_"Mullen's push for increased android mandatory reporting beyond existing state laws, including for domestic models, has earned her controversy in the past, with opponents claiming that her proposed changes would lead to America becoming a privatized surveillance state..."_

 

There was a blip of a text message coming from his phone, and Hank took the first opportunity he could to pull over and park his car. After the call earlier that morning, he didn't immediately get his hopes up as he pulled his phone up, but nevertheless he still ended up feeling a touch of disappointment when he saw Pedro identified as the sender.

 

**Pedro**  
**[11:06:23] Morning!**  
**[11:07:02] I don't have alot to give you today. I'm sorry, that freaky club keeps a tight lid on everything man**  
**[11:07:30] I can tell you what I DID get later today**

 

Not the news he was hoping for from Pedro either.

**[11:09:14] What time can you meet me at Gary's?**

**Pedro**  
**[11:09:45] don't know yet. I'll let you know as soon as I do tho**  
**[11:10:03] I'll bug Gary to open his cart for us lol**

 

More wheel spinning. He tried not to feel disheartened even further, typing out another text before pulling the car back out into drive.

**[11:10:57] Appreciate it. Pretend there's a happy face here.**

 

**Pedro**  
**[11:11:08] I got you covered!**

The last he saw before he put his phone away was the several lines of broken emoji placeholders Pedro helpfully sent his way.

 

 

 

 

The early afternoon was slow going. There weren't a lot of human employees left in the chain stores. For decades, the big companies had threatened to replace workers with automation if they asked for higher raises and as soon as it became economically feasible they switched over anyways. A human part time employee even at scraping the barrel level of pay was around six thousand dollars in salary. An android, who could provide daily continuous labor, with yearly maintenance costs included, was half that amount. 

Still, stores usually kept a handful of human staff members around. Mostly because androids were apparently terrible at managing themselves. Managing and loss prevention, those were the two jobs that humans tended to be stuck with. Most androids weren't aggressive towards potential shoplifters and had slow reaction times to theft, or at least that was what he'd heard. It made sense when he thought about Samantha back in Valiroad, smiling pleasantly as she placed a 911 call mid robbery.

He dropped by a few of the usual places, slinking around the loading bays on the back sides of big stores. The human staff all dropped their heads to stare at the ground when he came around, and the androids working there politely and kindly recited their company's desire for him to come back with a warrant or not at all. When he tried to kick up conversations with employees, he was asked to leave.

 

If he wanted to find humans that unloaded trucks and cut open pallets of parts and thirium, he would have to look in more narrow areas. This too was familiar to him. There were apps and websites that listed android free businesses. Most of them were located in higher end parts of Detroit. People who had regular employment and owned houses or at least could consistently afford rent had the option to seek out and support businesses that chose to only hire humans and pay the extra costs attached. Most people didn't have that option.

The irony of humans selling android parts wasn't lost on anyone involved.

A few of the managers and store owners knew him, either because they had dealt with him in the task force days or because he'd actually shopped at their stores. His presence wasn't exactly met with smiles. Usually when he showed up it meant an ugly investigation that they might get involved in. Torres' case ended up being his cover, getting his foot in the door to speak with some people working receiving.

"I'm not looking to make arrests. I'm looking for information. I'm trying to find out about someone who's not a usual. Someone who isn't buying thirium to make slush out of it or buying parts to resell. If you know somebody who's sold to a person like that, or you are that somebody, give me a call." He told the crew he spoke with.

It was a long shot. But he had to set some feelers out. It was better than doing nothing to follow the lead.

 

It was only in the middle of a drive out to yet another convenience store that it hit him that he was missing the forest for the goddamn trees. Between the old lady android at the children's hospital and the deviant working at the Henry Ford, the general pattern of those bringing in support had been deviants living and working incognito among regular androids.

So what would logically be the deviants' supplier for parts and thirium? Sure as hell not a random human who could potentially rat them out.

No, their supplies probably came from android insiders working in the stores. If a crate of thirium went missing from stocks and accounting, there was no way a human employee could get away with it for long. But if an android told its owner there had been a mistake or the supplier had shorted them an amount? The human probably wouldn't bat a fucking eyelash over it. No one would expect an android to cook the books. No one would expect an android to fudge the math. As far as most humans were concerned, androids _were_ the math.

 

"I'm a goddamn idiot." He concluded.

Soon after, he received another text.

 

**Gary**  
**[13:32:02] I'm open today and there's someone here who wants to speak with you. He's not going to be here long so get here soon.**

That was probably Pedro. And to think the guy had been hounding him about short notices and all.

 

**[13:33:15] I'll be there in 15.**

 

 

 

 

It wasn't Pedro waiting for him when he arrived at the Chicken Feed. Gary was with someone else, the two of them hunkered over the counter and speaking to each other. The stranger was smoking, a lit cigarette resting in between two gloved fingers, his hand making back and forth passes to his mouth. As soon as Hank stepped out of the car, Gary's gaze snapped to him and he said something to the man. The guy straightened himself up and adjusted something on his face. When he turned around, Hank understood why.

Obviously he hadn't ever seen the man's facial features, but it was the same glasses and scarf he'd seen two days ago. 

Harrier.

"Officer." The man greeted, and yeah, that was the same voice, the same guy.

"Uh." He looked back to Gary, in questioning. Gary responded with the slightest tip to one shoulder.

Harrier made as if he was about to flick his cigarette on the ground but Gary caught him. "Trash can's right there."

There were a few seconds of silence as Harrier stepped aside to do just that, tossing his cigarette into the food cart's trash can with the practiced ease of someone who probably did so a lot, leaving Hank stuck and off kilter by the entire situation. "You mind if I ask why you're here?" He decided that was a good starting point.

"I talked to some professional acquaintances of mine about you and the search you're doing." Harrier leaned back against the food truck, slipping his hands back into his coat pocket. "One of them was willing to speak with you."  
His mouth fell open. "You... what?"

He gestured to him with one hand, beckoning Hank closer. When he approached, Harrier grabbed his wrist and a cheap looking blocky cell phone was slapped into his palm along with a slip of paper. Harrier sandwiched his hand between his own, manually closing his fingers around the two parcels. "This is me sticking my neck out for you, you got that? Don't make me regret it."

Hank withdrew his hand once he had left go of him. The paper was folded up a few times, crinkled from being shoved in a pocket. The cell phone was the kind that could be picked up in grocery stores, preloaded with a third rate service provider and a data limit. He unfolded the piece of paper and found scrawled handwriting inside. 

_Corner of Saint Paul and Mount Elliott. 4 PM._

A time, a place and a phone.

Harrier raised himself off the side of the truck, and Hank reached for his own wallet, figuring the guy probably expected to be paid for the delivery. 

Instead, the man shouldered past him without looking back, leaving him scrambling to turn around. "--Hey!"

Harrier didn't stop, waving a hand over his shoulder just like he had the time before. 

For lack of anything else to say, he blurted out, "Thanks!"

 

"What was that all about?" Pedro asked over his shoulder, apparently having just trudged up to the Chicken Feed. The weather was clear today, so he wasn't as wrapped up like a mummy the last few times he'd seen him.

"I don't know?" He admitted, folding the paper back up again. "But I just got a lead." It was the first good news he'd gotten all day.

"Cool, that's great, especially since I _don't_ have one for you."

Even though Pedro had warned him ahead of time, it didn't stop him from letting out a sigh, a long cloud of vapor streaming from his mouth. "Yeah, well. What did you get for me?"

"Okay, so." He was all but ushered over to one of the fold up tables next to the cart. "I asked my friend in Riverfront, he pointed me to some contacts. I asked around. And even though I was looking, I didn't get much. I even got in touch with one of the bouncers who watches the front. You know, the one of the maybe five humans working the club. The only big thing he'd seen happen lately? You."

Hank blanched a little, the single word feeling uncomfortably like an accusation.

"Uh-huh. The guy said there had been this 'fuck-huge cop' that came in that they were expecting trouble from. And who has been coming in nearly every day for the past week or something to rent the same android." Pedro raised a serious eyebrow at him. "Wonder who that could be. But no judgement from me, man. I asked him if there had been anything weird going on with the androids, berserker glitches or whatever. Guy immediately clammed up and told me he couldn't tell me anything. Like you said, Club Scarlet's legal team is like a bunch of sharks. They smell blood in the water and they swarm."

"Yeah. Sounds about right."

"Okay, okay, but. Here's the interesting thing." Pedro leaned forward over the table, hands held flat on the surface. "There's a reason for that. The reason is that Club Scarlet's legal team... is Cyberlife's legal team."  
Hank raised his head. That _was_ something interesting. "How does that work?"

"I don't know but it's why they have the androids especially on lockdown. Club S and Cyberlife are like this:" He laced his fingers together. "--Behind the scenes. So nothing's gotten out because Cyberlife doesn't want anything getting out."  
It had been a theory that had been rattling around in his head ever since Jacoby had given him that sideways explanation of where the RK800 came from. But it didn't really answer any of his questions. "Guess that's that, then. I'm going to have to try and find another lead."

Pedro gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry I couldn't help you out."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just at the end of my rope here. At this point I'm going to run out of options and have to fall back on the Anderson tradition of waiting around the parking lot with a baseball bat and my 'Come get some' shirt."  
It got a laugh out of Pedro. "You still have that shirt? I thought you had to throw it out after you got shot."

He folded his arms over his chest. "When you've been around forensics as long as I have, you pick up some mean stain removal tricks."

Pedro just shook his head, but after a moment he seemed to sober up a little. "So, uh. I know you don't like talking about your cases and all. But this has got me really, really curious. What exactly is going down with you and Club Scarlet?"

At this point he figured he might as well tell him, after all Pedro had done for him. Or at least he could tell him what he was currently trying to solve, and avoid all the parts about the RK800. "I first stopped by the club for something DPD related. Turned out to be a dud. But a few days ago I woke up and someone had tagged my door with a threat. Quote: Stay away from Club Scarlet. Unquote."

He had been expecting more amusement on Pedro's face, maybe a whistle of awe.

He hadn't been expecting the genuine look of horror that he saw there instead. 

He narrowed his eyes. "Do you... know something about that...?"

"I might...?" Pedro cringed in discomfort. "Not something exactly like it but something scary similar." He waved his hands, "Okay, okay. So. What happened was that my ex--Rashida." He paused when Hank opened his mouth to ask, "Yeah, that was something that happened while you were AWOL. It wasn't working out. But that's not important. About a month ago Rashida was talking to me about something she'd heard about, just a few blocks down. They found this guy's body on a street corner. It was crazy. His throat was cut out and he was almost completely bled out like the killer was trying to do him dhabihah-style."

That was vaguely familiar sounding.

"So here's the thing. This guy had a girlfriend and the two of them were going through some serious rough patches. One of the big things they fought about that he used to blow a lot of money at The Eden Club we got near here. He promised her he wouldn't go anymore. Then one morning, lo and behold..."

His pulse was rising in his throat, following the story to the logical conclusion. "Stay away from The Eden Club?"

Pedro nodded nervously, before getting back into his tense rambling. "Yeah. That. Exactly. So of course she's pissed because he obviously broke his promise, and _he's_ pissed because he thinks she was the one who wrote that on the door, public shaming or whatever. Anyway it's finally the breaking point for them. She kicks him out because the apartment is leased under her name, and he leaves. And... then, yeah. A week later they found him like that." 

Pedro swallowed as he went quiet. He almost seemed spooked. 

Whatever analysis he was running inside his head slowly came to a grinding halt. He remembered where he'd heard that before. Chris' case he'd been working on with another detective in Homicide. Throat cut, body drained of blood and dumped. Was it the same case? Chris had said the victim had gone missing over the course of a single night which brought up an even worse option: there might be more than one victim.

If it was involved in a murder, there had to have been photos of the graffiti on the door, so why didn't it come up in his search? It clicked a second later: he had been looking through vandalism cases. Not in the fucking homicides. No wonder he wasn't finding it.

"Hank, I know you deal with this kinda stuff a lot on the job, but... are you sure what you're doing is a good idea?"

He had been prepared for 'attempted murder' as a potential outcome when he started defying whoever had threatened him, but it was something else entirely to know that there was someone out there making good on those threats. "I don't think I really have a choice at this point." He admitted.

"This guy who got killed..." Pedro added, still hesitant, scared even. "I mean from what I heard he was a real piece of shit. He and his girlfriend would get in fights and he'd smack her around sometimes. He was that kind of guy, so I don't..." He trailed off, brow furrowing. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Yeah." He nodded his head. "Yeah. I will." He checked his own phone, looking at the time. Past two o'clock. He needed to get ready for whatever the thing was that Harrier had set up for him. He put the piece of paper into his pocket along with the burner phone. He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Hey, if either of you guys get a lead for me in the future, don't text it to me. I want you to give it to me in paper form. Write it down and tape it to my door or hand me a note or something." 

Pedro's brow raised again, some of the tension finally draining from his face. "So instead of a digital paper trail, you want us to leave a literal paper trail."

He forced a snort, even though he didn't find it all that funny. "I can burn paper, but it's pretty hard to burn anything digital these days."

 

 

 

 

The corner of Saint Paul Avenue and Mount Elliott Street was in front of a large graveyard sharing the name of the latter. Old brick buildings dotted the streets on either side, everything covered by a low quiet that was occasionally punctured by the rumble of an automated taxi rolling by. He was a little early, enough time to scope out there area and get a feel of things. There weren't a lot of people around. He could spot the occasional visitor weaving between the graves, but there were none that seem to pay any attention to him. Landscaping androids made slow, quiet circles around the perimeter fence line, cleaning up any litter they found and tending to the graves. 

Even though he couldn't see anyone out there with their eyes on him, he had the underlying feeling of being watched. These days people didn't have to come to a stakeout in person. For all he knew there could be a few cameras with battery packs left on the rooftops in the area, monitoring him from a distance. He watched the clock on the burner phone as he stood in place under the stop sign on the street corner. It was silent until 4 o'clock finally rolled around.

The phone buzzed and vibrated in his hand, _UNKNOWN NUMBER_ written over the caller ID screen. He let it ring a single time before he picked it up and held it to his ear.

There was a length of time where he only heard muted static coming from the other end.

_"So you're Hank Anderson, DPD."_ The man's voice came in through the static distorted. It fluctuated a little, like whatever the filter had been put over it was adjusting itself over time, pitching up and down at random.

"That's me. You got something I can call you?"

_"You can call me Coyote."_ An animal motif. Now that he thought about it, 'Harrier' might have been based after the bird rather than the airplane like he'd originally thought.

"Coyote."He repeated. "Got it."

_"You bugged?"_

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding it out in the air for the view of whatever eyes or cameras were on him. "Just my work phone."

Satisfied or not, the man on the other end continued. _"What is it you're trying to accomplish here?"_

"I'm looking for people who have been in contact with androids that are acting unusually--"

Coyote's words ran over his own as he cut him off. _"I know about that. I want to know what you're trying to get out of it."_

This was what would determine whether or not he got his lead, he knew. If he gave a bad answer, he'd be left with nothing. He didn't have a lot to go off of. He still didn't know why Harrier had even given him this chance. All he had were the small hints. Harrier asking if Rupert had gotten away in the end. The small bit of sympathy he'd shown for the android. If this Coyote was in contact with the deviants, or in contact with someone else who was, he was going to take his chance.

"In my department, there's a detective and an android who are hunting down reports of 'deviant' androids and the people who are helping them. And they're pretty fucking good at their jobs. I'm trying to reach them first."

_"Why?"_

"I want to help them. I have access to my department's case files, I can warn them ahead of time. I can impede the investigation progress."

At this point the worst thing that could happen was this Coyote could try and blackmail him with what Hank was telling him. Or report him to Cyberlife. He was willing to accept the chances of either of those things happening. "If the detective and the android find them first, things are going to go to shit for those people. I'm trying to help. I _want_ to help. So can you help me?"

He was greeted with the same empty static from before. He held his breath, waiting for something, anything.

Then, _"I'll let you know."_

The fuzzy static came to a halt as the line cut off. He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the call ended screen.

 

"God..." He squeezed the phone in his fist, gritting his teeth. "...damn it!"

On the opposite side of the fence around the graveyard, one of the WR600's raised his head to look his way curiously before moving on.

 

 

 

 

The burner phone sat in his passenger seat on top of the wadded up bundle of his other jacket. He figured he might as well keep it until the data ran out, then take out the chip and dump it at an electronics recycling collection center. It might come in handy, but after today his hopes weren't exactly high.

Night had fallen as he headed his way to Scarlet. The small amount of warmth that had trickled in through the sunshine was leeching away, his car's heater circulating air with a dull roar.  
He tried not to stare too long at either of the bouncers who searched him over as usual. It made sense that a guy like him would be noticed, talked about among the staff. Being a 'fuck-huge cop' and all. He was ushered through, in spite of his increasingly lowered grooming habits as the days had gone by.

He was early again, arms at his side as he walked through the main floor of the club. By now the thrumming music and the nude skin cast across the stages and poles were a blurred background against the oversaturated red and the swaying lights.  
It was only when he caught a familiar face in the corner of his vision that he raised his head to look.

 

His first introduction to the RK800 had been him working the pole, so it shouldn't have been as large of a shock to see him like that. But somehow the piecemeal videos hadn't prepared him for it, for actually standing in front of the stage and see the controlled, sinuous movements of the android. He could see the flex and bulge of muscle underneath the skin when the android grabbed a hold of the pole to drop himself down into a split. The tension in his thighs as he raised himself back up into a half spin. His eyes snagged on his toned stomach. Freckles. Just like the blemishes scattered over the android's face. Little dark spots over his stomach and across the firm lines of his synthetic shoulderblades.

Whatever thoughts were in his mind were cut off as the RK800 lowered himself onto the stage floor, rolling onto his side like an old fashioned singer might lay over the top of a piano to make eyes at the pianist. "Hello Hank." He greeted him with a sultry smile, one of the android's legs still hooked around the pole as he rested his cheek on the inside of one outstretched arm. "It's good to see you. Would you be interested in a private dance today?" The android _winked_ at him.

His face was warm and probably red, he was sure. He punched out an uncomfortably tight exhale before he could speak. "Nope." He concluded, the pop of his lips on the single word almost audible over the bass. "Get dressed. I want to start my session."  
If anything, the RK800's smile widened even further. "Of course, Hank. I'll be back in just a moment." The android sat up and reached an arm towards the pole, using it to pull himself onto his feet. The android twirled one more time around it with a visibly dramatic flare, canting his hips to one side in a very transparent attempt to draw attention towards his ass. The black briefs pushed so low the band was practically resting on the top of his asscheeks were an even more transparent attempt. Hank rubbed a hand over his face as he watched the RK800 walk down the stage and down the stairs in the back.

As soon as he was off the stage, the android's demeanor seemed to change. His movement stopped being so swaying and theatrical, back to the usual utilitarian walk he was used to seeing. The android paused at the base of the steps, reaching up to his throat to tighten his red tie and smooth the blade down flat over his bare chest. He lost track of the android as he retreated to the back rooms, and Hank himself lumbered his way to the private room lobby as usual. Within a few minutes, the RK800 emerged with a fresh set of clothes, (white dress shirt, slacks and no tie as usual) and Hank finished filling out the tablet and gestured for the android to follow him out into the parking lot.

 

 

"I'd like you to wear this." He offered him the coat when they were both in the car. 

He was learning the ins and outs of the script. Phrased like that, the RK800 offered him no resistance or objection, pulling the coat over his arms and nestling himself into the oversized collar. The sight pulled a brief smile over his face. He looked a lot more comfortable in that than in his pole dancing ensemble.

"I got something else for you." He pulled out the 1994 quarter he'd packed with the jacket. The RK800's eyes moved from the coin back to his face, and he opened his mouth no doubt to give him his canned rejection. "Now--" He interrupted him before he could, "This isn't a monetary tip. I heard that your model can calibrate with coins, so I brought this for you."

"Oh." The android allowed him to pass the coin into his open palm, and he rubbed his thumb over the eagled side facing upwards. "Have I seemed like my manual dexterity was in need of calibration?"

He hadn't exactly been expecting that question, a croak coming out of his throat as he fumbled for his words. "Uh. Not exactly. I just thought calibration was a good thing for you. Like maintenance, or whatever."

Thankfully the android took pity on him, flashing him an easy smile. "Thank you, Hank. I appreciate the gesture. I will do so now if that is alright."

"Be my guest." He waved his hand his way as he settled in his seat.

He watched as the RK800 started up the familiar hand motions, flipping the coin over from one knuckle to the next, trailing it back and forth. Like this, sitting in his car in the quiet darkness, he found he didn't mind the audible clinks and pings the coin made. The android switched it up, moving to passing the coin from one hand to the other, the flick of his thumbs sending the coin ringing through the air before it was caught in the opposite palm. He closed his eyes as his ears tracked the sounds. Back, forth, back and forth, back--

The ringing didn't stop that time, continuing until it cut off in a loud _POP_ as the quarter struck his window and bounced off the glass. "Woah!" He fumbled to catch the quarter that landed in his lap. "What the hell was that?"

 

What he saw when he turned to look to the android had his guts lurching. The RK800 was still, completely unmoving, his hands frozen in place, thumb raised where it had flicked the coin, the opposite hand half outstretched. He could see the reflected light of his LED blinking red on and off, casting an alarming light over the interior of his car.

Oh god. What had he done _this time?_

This time, the android didn't launch into a spiel at him having inadvertently triggered a terms of service violation by encouraging him to calibrate or what the fuck ever. Instead, he was staring forward, unseeing. Somehow, that worried him even more.  
"Hey." He reached out a hand, waving it in front of his face. The android didn't even blink. "Hey!" He reached out to his shoulder, giving it a shove. Nothing, it just jerked the android around before he seemed to snap back his previous position. "Con--" He stopped himself before he got the full name out and, not knowing what else to do, he grabbed his wrists and forced them down to his sides.

That, at least, seemed to work. The RK800 came to life at once, his expression twitching into attention and then to confusion, his LED flashing a rapid yellow before sliding back into a semi blue. He turned his head to look his way.

"Jesus." Hank huffed out an uneasy exhale. "What was that all about?"

The RK800's brow pinched, furrowing in apparent concentration. "I'm sorry. It seems that my calibration instructions were interrupted due to file corruption."

"Oh, is that all?" He let go of his hands, and the android kept them where Hank had positioned them, the tension still visible in his shoulders. "Kinda freaked me out there."

"I apologize. I did not mean to cause alarm."

"So, what? You need to calibrate your calibrations or something?"

"No. I have already resolved the issue with the protocol. Thank you for your concern, Hank."

"God damn." He flopped back into his seat, his hands resting in his lap. The android sounded pretty relaxed about it now that whatever it was had apparently passed. He shoved the coin back into his coat pocket.

"Can we discuss what you would like to do during your session?" The RK800 spoke up, returned to his usual calm, pleasant tone, as if the weird fit hadn't happened.

"I just want to talk." He answered back.

"Okay." Another smile. "But could I make a suggestion, Hank?"

His lips pulled into a grimace. He'd been expecting the RK800 to go into the usual disclaimer about him not being able to remember conversations, it had actually been quite some time since the android had made a sexual pass at him. Up until this point he'd seemed to finally get it into his head that he wasn't here to fuck. "You remember what I told you about touching me, right?"

"Of course. I'm not to touch you unless you tell me otherwise. It's in your profile. But my suggestion is... if you only want to talk, perhaps you should instead visit an android therapist?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Please understand that I am not intending to be rude." The RK800 added quickly, like he was expecting a very negative reaction from him. "But if you're only looking to talk with someone, there are many android therapists and psychological practitioners in the area nearby." He tilted his head to one side, seemingly entreating him. "Visiting one of them would be more cost effective compared to my own rental rates as well as likely more effective in general, due to their certifications and protocols specifically focused around talk therapy. For example, Lifeline Counselling and Consultation is within five miles of this location and offers android sessions starting at twenty dollars per hour."

Probably the last thing he'd ever expected was to end up getting passive aggressively 86'd by an android escort out of concern for his goddamn wallet.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not coming to you because I want a therapist." He waved his arms in front of himself. "Maybe I just... _like_ having conversations with you." It wasn't exactly a lie. He did enjoy talking with the android. But if it weren't for the threat on his door or the fact that the RK800 shared a model with Connor he wouldn't be here, pissing away money like this day after day on these otherwise fruitless visits. The words ended up feeling hollow after he said them.

"I see. I apologize if I caused any offense." The RK800 seemed happy enough to drop the subject. "What would you like to talk about today?"

"God, uh...." He scratched over his jaw. "Could talk about work again, I guess."

"Of course, if that is what you'd like. But, as per club policy--"

"You don't remember any previous conversations." He waved his hand dismissively. "Got it. You don't need to tell me."

"I'm sorry if I've repeated that too many times to you." He had, but Hank wasn't about to rub that in his face or anything. "How was work today, Hank?"

"Today was my day off, actually." He flashed the android a wry smile.

"Oh. Did you enjoy your day off, Hank?"

He hadn't but he didn't exactly want to talk about that either. Even if the RK800 would forget everything he'd say, he didn't want to dwell on it further. "It was fine."

There was a twitch in the android's face. A flicker of an almost put out look, maybe. "Is there something that happened at work recently that you would like to talk about?"

He could always go back to whining about 'the rookie'. Or Reed. Or anyone, he guessed. He could whine about a lot of things. "Not... particularly." He admitted.

"Hank. From what I can tell, you seem rather stressed. But more than that, you also seem... sad." Hank frowned, dropping his gaze to the dashboard. "Is there anything we could talk about that might make you feel better? You can tell me about anything. It will be removed from my memory within twenty four hours, so you don't need to worry about secrecy, and I promise I will not make any judgement on you or what you say."

It sounded like the android had indeed resigned himself to being his psychologist, which was a hilariously unfunny prospect.

He rested his head on one of his fists, thinking it over.

 

"I'm between partners at work." He started, finally.

The RK800 tipped his head in interest. "You're looking for a partner, currently?"

"No. I don't have one and I don't want one."

He could see the brief flicker of yellow in the android's LED as he contemplated that. "Did you have a negative experience with your previous partner?"

He drew in a deep breath and let his shoulders sag as he released it. "No. The opposite. My old partner was great."

The RK800 tilted his head every so slightly in the other direction, and he could see the android's pupils dart around as he examined Hank's face more closely. Like the gears were really moving trying to figure him out. "Would you like to tell me about them, Hank?"

 

Would he?

 

He didn't know. Part of him clawed eagerly at the inside of his skull at the prospect like a caged animal. The other keenly felt the wrongness about talking about it with the RK800. 

"He got hired onto the department about two months ago. He was fresh, new, and kind of ridiculous. Kind of a... you know." He gestured at himself, grabbing the loose buttons of his dress shirt and pulling them together, "A real stuffy guy. Fresh off the assembly line and all that."

Not a lie, but the RK800 didn't need to know his partner was an android.

"I didn't like him at first."

"Why was that, Hank?" The android asked him, ever the polite listener.

"Well, I didn't want a partner then either. I was... kind of an asshole." He was still an asshole. "And my department head just glued this fancy new detective to my hip and told me to go do work."

"Why would you say that about yourself, Hank?"

He sighed, pushing his hair back from his face. "Because I didn't give him a chance. First thing I did when we were in the office together was push him up against a wall and yell at him."

There was another pinch in the android's brows, and his skin prickled as the RK800 kept staring at his face, visibly trying hard and working on his evaluation of him. "What caused you to act like that?"

Well, that was an oddly loaded question with a lot of potential answers. First of all, he kind of was an asshole, full stop. Second, because he'd been taught since he was in his teens that stupid macho power trips like that could get irritating people out of his face. Third--

"I was trying to scare him off. Convince him that it wasn't worth trying to work with me. It didn't stick." He added, when the android continued to look at him intently. "He called my bluff and he kept with me, and we worked together on a few cases."

"And you worked well together?"

"I'd say so, yeah. And I'm not... the best guy to get along with. I used to be better at it, but..." He tipped a shoulder.

"What changed?"

He glanced the android's way. The RK800's face was still innocently imploring, asking him to say more.

"It's, what happened to me was--"

It was always hard for him to just _say it_. Some part of him didn't want to put it into words. Mealy mouthed substitutions and softened words felt like betrayal, or insult. Saying it bluntly felt worse. "Three years ago." Each word was halting as he fought for the most clinical words he could think of. Like trying to pick out a scalpel from a box of rusted knives to use on himself. "My son died in a car accident."

He saw the RK800's eyes widen and then soften in turn. It was a painfully familiar gesture, but he supposed it was better than the alternative he saw just as often--the shock and then cringing embarrassment at having to be exposed to someone else's grief.  
"I'm sorry for your loss." Came the anticipated phrase from the android, graceful and without the typical squirming humans usually had accompanying it.

"After it happened, I've..."

_...changed._

_...taken to drinking myself to death._

_...stopped caring about anything anymore._

His mouth formed around words but nothing really came out. He couldn't really say those either, not sober, anyways. He dragged in a deep, long inhale. "See, it's-- The other guys I work with, they look at me and... they just see a shadow of the man I used to be. They look at me and," He placed a hand over his chest, "They're hoping one day I'll just stop fucking wasting their time and go back to who I was before."

_Or just hurry up and die already, and stop dragging it out._

He knew that wasn't fucking fair of him to say or to think. He knew that.

The psychologist he'd briefly talked to in the wake of Cole's death had tried to steer him away from that line of thinking. Had assured him that friends of his like Ben and Jeffrey didn't actually think of him like that, that the parts of his brain telling him that were the depression and the addiction and the grief talking.

_Would you say what you've been saying about yourself to a coworker who had also suffered a great loss?_ She had asked.

Of course Hank had said no. But he had told her that if a guy came into work hungover at noon in the state he regularly did, he could have either been on his ass until he showed some improvement or advised him to find work elsewhere.

 

Which was what Connor had done.

 

"But, uh." His throat was feeling tight, like it was on the verge of closing over. "My partner. He looked at me and it was like he just saw _me_." He ran a hand over his face, sucking in another breath that was too wet and too noisy. "He saw me for who I was right then, warts and all. He didn't tiptoe around me like he was walking on eggshells, and he was ready to drag me around with his own hands if he needed me for something." He managed a light, unsteady laugh at that. It wasn't like Connor hadn't known who he was before everything, either. He'd all but recited Hank's storied history back to him. But Connor had come at him and hadn't been shy about demanding his best anyway. At the same time, he had acted like he'd actually _cared_. Cared about him in the face of Hank's hostility and abrasiveness and physical mistreatment.

The thought had the wad of hurt in his chest tightening even further.

"And so we worked together. And it was good. The best I'd felt about anything since... since the accident." He let out another, more mirthless laugh. "God. Then he..." He didn't look at the android, staring ahead at the dark, half empty parking lot in front of them. "Then he went out on assignment and he never came back."

He saw the RK800 shift in his peripherals. Maybe he'd gotten pathetic enough that even an android was getting uncomfortable talking to him. 

The android leaned forward into his line of vision, over the dash, trying to meet his gaze. His expression was wide eyed and gentle. Maybe even sad. "Your partner... died in action?" He concluded for him.

"Yeah. That's right." There was a certain amount of helplessness in admitting that. "I never learned what happened either." He added, answering the unspoken question he figured was in the air. "He just left on his own and I was told he'd died." No body was ever brought back, no remains, no deeper explanation. It was like he had simply disappeared. It was why he had chased after his ghost for so long, like the spitting image that was sitting beside him in the car. "And I know it was because he went alone. If I had gone with him, he wouldn't have just... disappeared."

 

_It was his fault Connor died._

 

The android moved closer to him, frowning. "You shouldn't say that. If you don't know what happened, you can't say it was your fault."

"I should have been there!" The sound of his yell pounded in his own temples, too loud for the small space of the car. "God... fucking damn it! I left him to die!"

The RK800 flinched and went silent.

Connor had needed him. Hank had given him his chance in the evidence room and then had gone home and sat on his hands like his work was done. And Connor had killed Markus. And then he had walked to his death.

"I'm sorry, Hank." The RK800 said again, low and soothing as Connor's voice could be. Had been. "You've lost a lot. I'm sorry it happened to you."

He tried to laugh again but it was mostly just a miserable sound wrenched from his lungs. The android almost sounded sincere, and when he let himself look back at him, he could see his eyes were so bright it looked like they were shining.

"I miss him." The words left him with another squeeze of his ribcage, like a hand was around him and pressing it out of him. "Which is... stupid. We barely even really knew each other. It's stupid. God."

The android had gone quiet as he rambled. Like he didn't know what to say. He didn't blame him. "He was... really good, you know? Better than most people I know. He was smart, smarter than he had any right to be." Even if he could be paradoxically thick skulled at times. Stubborn and set in his own biases in a way that was weirdly human, weirdly relateable. "Determined. Didn't want to stop for anything. But, uh." His chest heaved with another wet exhale. "Connor was a good person. He wasn't afraid to go against the rules to do the right thing. You know? Look the other way when someone really needed you to." There were cops out there that cared more about following the rule of law than they did about taking care of people. Knowing that Connor wasn't one of them made him feel... proud?

A machine, understanding something so important that other humans didn't.

"And he's gone now." He concluded, trailing off. "That's that, I guess."

 

He felt the warmth of a hand coming to rest over his shoulder. The sudden intrusion into his space was disquieting. "Did you have romantic feelings towards your partner?" The android asked, looking him in the eyes intently when he turned to face him. 

Mortification flooded every inch of him like water into a glass. Pooling into his limbs, his fingers. The lingering tightness in his chest snapped taunt like a wire snare. "...What?"

"You said your partner's name was Connor. That is the name you've given me since you first created your profile here. I am an android designed to provide sex and intimacy, and you named me after your partner. Did you have romantic feelings for him?"

His gaze darted towards the dashboard, towards the window, anywhere except the android staring at him. Then the RK800 was moving. He raised his leg and turned his body and the next thing Hank knew, the android was pulling himself into his lap. He seated himself over the tops of his thighs, his back hunched over in an arch that still left the top of his head brushing against the car ceiling. Hank stiffened up. He should push the android off of him. He should give him hell for even touching him to begin with. What he did was gape like a fish as the RK800 cupped the sides of his face in delicately soft hands. "It's okay, Hank." The pads of his thumbs smoothed over his cheeks. "You can tell me. It's what I'm here for. Did you have romantic feelings for Connor?"

The RK800 was warm like a person. Like a person was sitting in his lap with his knees splayed on either side of his hips. With his face only a fingerlength from his own.

"I don't..." _I don't know. I've thought about it again and again but I don't_ know. "I only knew him for... five days. Just five days. That's not anything." It wasn't the foundation for a romantic relationship. It was barely the basis for a goddamned friendship.

"Did you want to develop a romantic relationship with him?" The android asked instead, leaning _in_ until their noses were nearly touching.

Why was he even humoring this? Why was he even answering? He wanted to crawl out of his fucking skin. "If. If he wanted to. Yeah. Yeah, I'd want that."

Maybe he just wanted to tell someone, anyone. Even someone who'd forget. Especially someone who'd forget.

There was a flicker of something in the RK800's face. Almost like triumph but not as cruel. "I could be him for you, if you want. That's why you named me after him, isn't it? That's why you picked me."

Somehow, it was that line that snapped him out of it. His hands came up to the android's shoulders, pushing him back out of his face. "No. I named you after him because you look like him. That's it."

 

A half truth.

 

"Then I could still be him for you." The RK800 didn't let himself be moved off of him, resisting just enough against his hands. "You could tell me more about him, and I could take on his mannerisms and match his personality."

The expression that passed over his face was something foul and unpleasant, he was sure about that. "You don't remember it but we already did that, and it wasn't very fucking satisfactory."

The android's brows twinged upwards, frowning a little. "Could you tell me where I went wrong?"

"You weren't him."

 

The truth.

 

He saw a sort of forlorn understanding dawn in the android's face, like he had finally clicked all the pieces together in his head, finally solved the puzzle of his one customer named Hank. To his relief, the RK800 dismounted him, pulling off and returning to his seat on the passenger side. "I'm sorry, Hank. I acted because I believed you were in need of comfort. I've overstepped again."

"Yeah." He felt like he could finally draw in air again, his lungs fully inflating since the android first touched him. "You did."

 

They were silent, the android sitting on his side, shoulders slumped over, hands in his lap. Hank let his head loll back against the seat.

 

"Hank, I--"

"I think you should go."

The RK800 raised his head higher, looking back at him in maybe surprise, maybe hesitation. "I'm afraid I will not be able to refund you for any time remaining in your session."

"I don't care. Just get out."

The android removed his jacket with quick and efficient movements, leaving it behind in the seat beside Hank. His LED was blinking yellow as he opened the car door and stepped outside. In the rear view mirror he watched the image of the android disappear back inside the building, the familiar silhouette edged in the red light underneath the carved crimson of the sign.

 

 

 

Hank poured himself another drink. It was dark in the kitchen, only a small light drifting in from his open bedroom door. He was still angry, still on edge, still wrong feeling after the drive home. The first thing he'd done was go for the Black Lamb, and it couldn't get inside his body fast enough.

The truth was, murder case or not, continuing to visit the club at this point was just worthless. He wasn't getting anything out of it and he was better off just sucking in his pride and reporting the copy cat tag or whatever it was on his door to the DPD. No, when he thought about it, it was even less than worthless. He was bleeding money trying to play detective like old times, money that he needed for car repairs, or house repairs, or hell, his retirement.

Something deep in his head sneered.

 

_Do you seriously think you'll live long enough to see retirement? You'd be better off blowing your money now._

 

Hank threw back the second shot of whiskey and poured himself another. It wasn't enough. He was still _thinking_. The voice in his head warred with the reasonable. The parts of him that had been taught financial responsibility by his parents ran headlong into a vast, uncaring wall. When the distractions started running out things always got worse.

It was unfair of him to be angry at the RK800. He didn't know better. He was just following his programming. Some part of his brain saw a moment of weakness in Hank and like most machines designed by humans he moved in to exploit it. He was the one that made the mistake of talking about Connor.

Fuck.

He missed Connor.

The glass landed on the table with a hard thud.

_You only knew him for five days. Four days, if you're really honest. Why are you missing him so much?_

Because Connor cared.

_Of course you want to believe that._

_He was just an android. He didn't care about anything. He just could convincingly act like he did._

_He saw a moment of weakness in you and he exploited it._

His stomach churned painfully at the thought. No. That wasn't true. None of Connor's extraneous actions would have benefited him like that. There was no reason for him to extend a hand out to Hank, to support him like he did.

_You don't know that. The truth is you know next to nothing about Connor._

_You don't even know if he was a deviant._

He did know. Connor had to have been. He was. Androids didn't get scared. Androids didn't show empathy. Androids didn't break the rules to spare the lives of deviants. Connor _was_ a deviant.

_You just want him to be so you don't have to accept the fact you're a pathetic piece of shit who's so desperate for someone to come and save you that you'll cry over a soulless machine that smiled at you once._

_You keep crawling back to his clone just for the chance to play pretend half an hour every day._

Hank drank more.

_No one wants you around._

Hank wondered where he kept his revolver but his legs wouldn't quite cooperate when he tried making a little half start out of his chair.

_Everyone would be better off with you gone._

 

Connor would have wanted him around. It was a small part of him, some small protest still remaining.

 

_Connor left to die instead of coming to see you again._

Hank buckled, resting his hand over his mouth as his shoulders shook.

 

_He probably didn't think of you once when they shut him down._

 

Sumo barked. It was a soft sound, but it echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen and over the angry murmur of his own thoughts. The dog had raised his head off his paws, and he was looking somewhere past Hank. He followed the dog's gaze to the kitchen window, long since repaired after Connor had come barreling through it two months ago.

It had started snowing again. White flakes drifting down in the orange toned light of the street lamp.

There was the click-clacking sound of nails on tile as Sumo rose up to his feet, the dog making his way across the kitchen to come rest his head in Hank's lap.

He made some sort of noise as he reached out and stroked over the top of the dog's head. "I'm sorry." He choked out. "I know, I know, Sumo. I should--I need to go to bed. I'm sorry, boy."

He tried not to trip over the dog as he pulled himself out of the chair, both hands resting over the back of it as he got to his feet.

 

_He just wanted this to be over._

 

His living room went by in a swirl of shadows as he kept one shoulder on the wall. He could hear Sumo following him close behind.

One way or another, he made it to his bed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being waaaay longer than I intended it to be and a bit more personal than I intended it to be too. Enjoy the small lull in the action because next chapter shit officially starts hitting the fan.
> 
> Also I finally got around to making a flowchart for the fic's world state. [Check it out here!](http://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1ncGw-sanK5e3DcJvkg8k72OHj0rUvVwi) Most of the events were already hinted at/described in the fic so it's mostly just there to give a clearer image of what happened and how.
> 
> Oh, and happy birthday Detroit: Become Human. Here I am almost ninety thousand words into a longfic for a video game I never thought I'd care about. What a wild year.


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